


Allegiance

by Stowaway



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: 18th Century, AU, Action/Adventure, Age of Sail, Angst, Drama, Epic, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Romance, Threesome, over 10000 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-22
Updated: 2005-08-21
Packaged: 2017-10-03 13:43:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 87,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stowaway/pseuds/Stowaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Will never came to Port Royal?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue, Will

**Author's Note:**

> Two warnings:  
> \--There is explicit non-con in Chapters 3 and 5 only.   
> \--There is some mild-to-moderately graphic violence in Chapter 11.   
> No other warnings apply. (Warnings appear in notes on relevant chapters.)
> 
> Ratings vary by Chapter from gen to explicit; rating for each chapter in notes. See end notes for a list. Chapter 1 rated T.

**At sea, east of the Leeward Islands**

Will Turner felt the deck shudder beneath him as the ship took yet another broadside. He could see little from where he huddled at the foot of the main mast, through the fog of burnt powder and the smoke, but he could hear – all too clearly. He heard Captain Smithson bellowing orders from the quarterdeck. He heard the screams of the wounded sailors and the panicked shrieking of those few passengers who had survived the direct hit to the cabins aft.

Battle at sea was not as he had imagined it when listening so eagerly to sailors' tales back home in England. To be sure, when the lookout had spotted black sails this morning at dawn, he had thrilled, boy-like, at the thought of seeing pirates – real pirates – at last. The desperate chase, with the _Bristol_ crowding sail and the Captain – a canny sailor – wringing every bit of speed possible from the trade winds, had been exciting, despite the inexorable way the pursuer had gained on them. He had hung over the rail, watching as she grew larger - that black ship with the tattered sails that nonetheless flew so swiftly - until the Captain had sent him and the other passengers below for safety and to be out of the way of the crew. He had gone reluctantly and had taken the first opportunity to slip back up on deck; making himself small as he could and sitting quietly as the crew worked with frantic haste to prepare the guns. If they noticed him at all, none spoke to him. Once the enemy was in range and the fight began, he held his place - transfixed by fear and unable to move.

The _Bristol_ was slowing, her motion growing sluggish as she took on water. He heard the order to throw the starboard cannon overboard and knew the Captain sought to raise the shattered wounds in her side above the waterline. One by one, heavy splashes sounded and the ship began to list, the angle of the deck increasing with each lightening of her burden.

Suddenly, he wanted to see what was going on; he looked up at the rigging. At that moment chain shot whistled through the shrouds above his head and he cowered down; all thought of going aloft fled. He wished he’d never left England. He wanted his mother, forgetting in his terror that she had died last Spring.

The sailors were firing with muskets over the starboard rail. The drifting smoke parted as her captor came alongside the _Bristol_, towering above the doomed merchantman, and Will got his first sight of pirates. The black ship's deck was crowded with yelling, grimacing men waving cutlasses and knives. Above them in the rigging others threw grapnels that fell to the _Bristol's_ deck with a thunk or tangled in the tattered shrouds. In seconds the two ships were fast and the marauders pouring over the side.

Will scuttled backward around the mast and sought to hide himself in the debris heaped around the foot of it, pulling a scrap of sail over his head, just as the main body of the pirates rushed up, intent upon taking the quarterdeck. By ill luck, the leader - Will guessed he was the captain from his huge feathered hat and his once-elegant coat - looked down and spotted him. The pirate stopped, allowing the other raiders to stream past him, as he stared at Will with an arrested expression upon his scarred face. A huge black, his half-naked body covered in a bizarre pattern of scars, appeared at the other's elbow, regarding Will with the same fixed interest.

"Well now, what have we here?" said the first pirate. He gestured with his head and the black darted forward and snatched Will from his hiding place. Will kicked and fought but the big man overpowered him with ease, dragging the panicked boy upright and pinning him back against his own massive torso.

"Stand still, boy," the pirate captain rasped, "nobody's hurt ye… yet." And he reached a grimy hand toward Will's chest, where, to his horror, Will saw that his golden medallion was swinging free of his shirt.

"Don't touch that," Will cried, wriggling desperately, "don't take it! Please! My father sent it to me!"

The pirate chuckled and grasped the coin, breaking the chain with a sharp yank. "Did he now?" he said, handing the necklace to the monkey on his shoulder, who tucked it into a pocket of his tiny coat. "Then I think you'll be coming with us. We've a use for you." He drew his dagger. Speaking to the black, he ordered, "Take him to the _Pearl_; my cabin." Reversing the knife he struck Will's temple a swift and cunning blow with the hilt and Will knew no more.  
************

When Will opened his eyes the light of a branch of candles, placed on a low table near where he lay, made him close them again with a groan. His head ached as if devils with hammers were at work inside his skull. When he tried to move, he discovered he was bound hand and foot. The pain in his head made it impossible to think. He opened his eyes again - the merest slit - and looked around. He lay on the deck in a large cabin. He saw the legs of tables and chairs, dark and ornate - like nothing he'd seen anywhere on the _Bristol_ \- and memory returned of the pirate attack and his own capture. He was aboard the black ship.

Escape! Perhaps he could get back to the _Bristol_ \- no-one seemed to be watching him. He listened but could hear no sound of battle. What was happening? If only he could get free… He tried again to move his arms and even that slight effort made his stomach roil and the pain in his head redouble. Confused and sick, Will lay half-fainting until startled to trembling alertness by the sound of booted feet approaching. Heart thumping, he held himself still. The boots stopped beside him and a toe nudged his hip.

"Ye're awake," his captor said. "Open your eyes." Will felt a tugging jerk and his ankles were free. Then the chill blade of a knife slid between his wrists and the cord, severing his bonds with a flick. "I said, open your eyes. Sit up." Will rolled over and sat, rubbing his wrists as feeling returned to them in a rush of tingling pain. He massaged each ankle, head bent, not daring to look up. "Thirsty?" the voice asked. Aware for the first time of his parched mouth, he nodded. A flagon was held before him. He put out his hand and it was moved beyond his reach. "Look at me, boy." Will raised his head. The pirate captain sat watching him with cold eyes. Will gave him stare for stare, praying desperately that his terror did not show. At last the pirate handed him the flagon. "Ye don't lack for spirit, at any rate," he chuckled.

Will drank, and choked on the thin, sour wine that made his tongue curl and his belly flop queasily. "May I have some water, please?" he asked, greatly daring.

A contemptuous shrug. "Suit yourself; it's yonder."

Will got to his feet - which still tingled and throbbed as the blood returned to them - staggered to the indicated pitcher and drank thirstily. The water settled his stomach and eased some of the pain in his head. He set the pitcher down again. Gripping it with both hands, he tried to think. If they were going to kill him, then why offer him a drink? If they did not intend to murder him, then what did they want? He could feel the pirate's gaze upon his back and his skin crawled. He took a deep breath. Better to face it, he told himself. He turned, head high, hoping his trembling knees would not betray him. "Where am I?" he asked.

"Aboard the _Black Pearl_." The pirate continued to watch him. "I be Captain Barbossa," he added, with a mocking half-bow.

The boy shuddered. He had known already, but hearing it spoken shook him nonetheless. Hope faded; still, he had to ask. "Where is the _Bristol_?"

Barbossa smiled unpleasantly. "Back there," he replied, with a jerk of his head.

That was no answer. "What about the other passengers and crew?"

Barbossa shrugged. Will read their fate in his eyes. He felt a sharp pang. So many of his friends - dead at the hands of this pirate and his men. And what was to become of him now? Will straightened his shoulders and raised his chin once more.

"Why…." He choked, took another deep breath and tried again. "Why did you bring me here?"

"Because you're one of us, young Will Turner," came the astonishing reply.

Will gaped at Barbossa. "I'm… How do you know my name?"

Barbossa reached into his coat and drew out Will's medallion. "Because you had this from your Da." He swung it gently on its chain. "Who else would you be but Bootstrap's son? He spoke of ye often and often."

"Bootstrap?" Will frowned. What did the man mean? "My father is Bill Turner."

"Aye, Bootstrap Bill Turner," Barbossa nodded. "As good a pirate as ever sailed Spanish Main, he were."

Will bristled. How dared this _outlaw_ say such a thing? "My father is not a pirate!" he cried.

Barbossa's laugh, Will thought, was as frightening as his smile. "Not now he's not, boy, but he was."

"Was?" Anger gave way to bewilderment. "What are you saying?"

"Bootstrap's been at the bottom of the ocean for nigh on two years," Barbossa shrugged yet again.

Will's head spun. He grasped the table behind him for support. "My father's dead?"

"Gone to Davy Jones's locker, he is," the pirate nodded. He tucked the medallion back in his pocket and placed his hand over it. "I'm sorry boy."

He did not sound sorry, Will thought.

"It was the fondest wish of his heart to take you with him to sea and show you the ways o' the Brethren. Many's the time we talked of it right here in this very cabin," Barbossa continued. He shook his head. "But it was not to be."

His father was gone. Will had come all this way to find him, alone, all across the ocean. It seemed he was to be alone forever, now. It was too much to bear. He felt his eyes fill with tears and gasped, fighting them back. "How did he die?"

"It was all the fault of a thieving blackguard name of Jack Sparrow." Barbossa leaned forward, elbow resting on one knee. "You remember that, young Will. _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, he calls himself."

"Jack Sparrow." Will repeated the name, committing it to memory. "He killed my father?"

"Ye might say that, aye," Barbossa nodded.

Will's fists clenched as rage and hate flooded his heart. It overflowed, pouring through him in a burning torrent. Suddenly he felt powerful - huge and strong. "Then I will kill _him_," he declared.

Barbossa sat back and laughed. "Spoken like a true pirate. I told ye, ye're one of us." There was a satisfied air about him, smug as a cat in cream.

As suddenly as it had come, Will's rage deserted him, leaving him trembling. He sat down on a nearby chest and put his head in his hands. Once again, he fought against tears. There was silence for some time. At last, he wiped his nose on his sleeve and looked at Barbossa. "Why did you attack the _Bristol_? They carried no treasure."

Barbossa grinned, a mirthless baring of teeth. "To rescue you, Will Turner."

Once again, Will was astonished. "_Rescue_ me!" he cried. "I don't believe you! Rescue me from what?"

"Aye, saved you we did - from hanging… or worse," Barbossa replied. "It was only a matter of time, boy, until someone recognized your name and what do you think they'd have done with a pirate's whelp such as yourself, eh?"

"They would have hanged me?" Will stared at the pirate. "How can that be? I had done nothing wrong."

"That don't matter," Barbossa shook his head knowingly. "'Tis enough for most folks that you're a pirate. You'd have found no mercy in them. They might have taken you for a spy sent to ferret out information for us."

Will could not take it in. The _Bristol_ had been a friendly place. Many of the crew and passengers had taken an interest in him, looking out for him during the first weeks at sea, before he found his sea legs and lost some of his homesickness. "But I met with nothing but kindness…" he stammered.

"Aye, whilst they believed you one o' _them_ and not one of _us_," Barbossa chuckled. "A fortunate thing it is that ye never showed your father's medallion to a soul on that ship or you'd have seen them change soon enough." He patted the breast of his coat. "It was this medallion that led us to ye."

"How?"

"The gold calls to us, boy. We'd have found you no matter where you were." Barbossa took out the medallion once again, weighing it in the palm of his hand with a thoughtful look. "You don't know what it is your Da sent you, do ye?" he asked.

Will shook his head. "No."

"This coin once lay in the hand of Cortez himself, boy. The Aztecs - you know who _they_ were?" Will nodded. "Aye, well. The Aztecs struck a bargain with Cortez long ago. If Cortez would call off his armies and stop slaughtering those heathen savages, they'd pay him blood money. Eight hundred eighty two pieces of gold, each just like this one. Well, Cortez took the gold when they delivered it in a carved stone chest. But he also got something else with it he didn't expect - a terrible curse. The heathen gods, ye see, had taken a hand in things. Any man who takes a piece of gold from that chest is cursed for eternity."

"Cursed?" Will asked. "How?"

"Food and drink," the pirate said somberly, "cease to perform their offices. No matter how much one drinks, one's thirst is never quenched. Food turns to ash in one's mouth. Starving of the hunger, parched with thirst - yet unable to die. Neither living nor dead, never ceasing to suffer; and in the moonlight to take one's true form of rot and decay. Forever." Barbossa stared out the cabin windows for some time. "We didn't believe the tale. When we found the chest on the Isla de Muerta we took the gold, all of it. And we have paid."

"You… You are cursed?" Will asked.

Barbossa nodded. "The lot of us. And no way to end our torment, save one."

"What is that?"

"Every one of the eight hundred eighty two pieces of gold must be restored to the chest, and the blood repaid."

Despite himself, Will shuddered. "What blood?"

"The blood of each man who took a piece of the gold," Barbossa replied. He held up Will's medallion. "This is the last one. When this goes back into the chest - with a few drops of blood from your father's son, we will be free."

"You need my blood to break the curse?" Will asked.

Barbossa nodded. "We do, boy. We're bound for the Isla de Muerta now. One day to get there, another to navigate the hidden passage and our torment will be over, thanks to you."

A few drops of blood, Barbossa had said. That didn't sound too terrible, Will thought. But these were pirates. So he asked, "Once the curse is lifted, what will become of me?"

"Why, a likely lad such as yourself, and a pirate born?" Barbossa replied, becoming jovial. "There's a place here on the Pearl for ye, to be sure. We owe it to old Bootstrap's memory - him bein' our mate and all. You'd be cabin boy, while you get your growth and learn to fight like a man."

Will looked doubtful. If these were his father's friends, then perhaps he belonged with them, but they were _pirates_.

"You've nowhere else to go, boy," Barbossa's tone was almost wheedling. "This is where you belong - not with them as'd hang you like a dog for being the son of Bootstrap Bill."

After a long moment, Will nodded. Barbossa rose and clapped him on the back.

"Good choice, lad," he cried. "We'll bring you up as would make your father proud. It's the pirate way. We'll look out for ye, never fear."  
*********************

Will spent most of the next two days in the great cabin of the _Pearl_. Barbossa - or the Captain, as he must now learn to call him ("If ye're to be a member of the crew, boy, best begin as you mean to go on.") - allowed him out on deck for only the briefest periods, never alone and never at night.

"Best not," was all he would say. Once, when Will, bored and longing to climb the rigging, pressed him for reasons, Barbossa had rounded on him and snapped, "Because I am the Captain, Will Turner. I am not obliged to explain myself to anyone. Remember that!" and Will had subsided into chastened silence.

During long hours alone in the cabin, Will had discovered a chest of books. Some few were in other languages - those he ignored - and many others appeared to be poetry or plays, but two held his interest. One was a bestiary, will illustrations of exotic and outlandish creatures to be found at the ends of the earth. He read of the habits of the strange creatures and dreamed of traveling to see them for himself. The other book was better still, for being the more practical. It was an atlas. He spent one whole afternoon, stretched out beneath the stern windows, poring over map after map - tracing coastlines and islands and mountain ranges - imagining what they looked like from the deck of a ship.

He took his meals alone in the cabin. Barbossa would not stay with him when he ate, which suited Will very well. The terrible longing in the Captain's eyes at the sight of food was unsettling.

Will slept on a pallet spread in a corner. It was comfortable enough - he had slept rougher on the _Bristol_ \- but his rest was disturbed by the pacing of Captain Barbossa. The man appeared never to sleep and Will guessed that this, too, was part of the curse.  
************

On the second night of their voyage to the Isla de Muerta they were hove to, awaiting dawn to negotiate the hidden passage. Barbossa had gone on deck. Will was restless from being confined so much, when he had used to be active all day. He fidgeted with a draughts board he'd found in the chest with the books for some time but he could not sit still for long. He saw through the great stern windows that the moon was riding high, laying a broad track of silver across the ruffled surface of the sea. He longed to feel the breeze and to see the sky open wide over his head, the stars winking and twinkling at him through the rigging, but the Captain had forbidden him to go on deck at night. Perhaps, if he wasn't seen…?

Will hesitated only a moment before crossing the cabin and entering the passageway. His bare feet made no noise as he crept to the doors that separated him from the open air. A long pause to listen and he decided there were very few of the pirates nearby. He heard an occasional word and some unfamiliar creaking, but nothing to indicate that the deck was crowded. He took a deep breath and laid hold of the door. It was placed half under the stairs to the quarterdeck - he thought the shadows there might help to hide him. He breathed a silent prayer that the hinges wouldn't squeak and eased the door open.

The sight that met his eyes held him motionless with horror. Skeletons! Everywhere he looked there were skeletons moving about the business of maintaining the _Pearl_. And such skeletons! Dressed in shreds and tatters, with rags of skin and rotting flesh clinging to their ghost-white bones - they were a nightmare come to life. They creaked as they moved. Paralyzed by the ghastly sight, Will cowered in the doorway, eyes wide. When he saw one with the coat and hat of the Captain striding toward him, he cried out and fled, letting the door slam to behind him.

Will was huddled on his pallet - curled into as small a ball as he could manage in a vain attempt to stop the trembling of his limbs - when Barbossa entered the cabin, restored to his customary appearance by the lack of moonlight below decks.

"What the devil do you mean, disobeying my orders?" Barbossa snarled, coming to stand over him. "Stand up when I'm speaking to you, boy." One big hand jerked Will to his feet, while the other dealt him a backhanded blow to the face, hard enough to make his eyes water.

Will shook himself free of the pirate's grip and backed against the bulkhead, raising shaking hands to ward off further blows, but Barbossa made no move to follow him.

"Why do you think I forbade you the deck after dark?" he asked. "It was to spare you the sight of our curse." He sighed and turned away, sitting heavily in his favorite chair. "Come here, boy." Will shook his head, with a stifled sob. Barbossa sighed again and held out his hand, palm up. "I'll not strike ye again, you have my word. Now come here to me. There are matters to be explained."

Moving slowly, Will approached the Captain's chair, stopping several feet away.

"Closer," Barbossa said and Will reluctantly obeyed, moving to stand at the Captain's knee. "Now, do you understand why I struck ye just now?" Barbossa asked.

"Because I went on deck when you told me not to," Will replied softly, looking down.

"Because you disobeyed an order from your _Captain_," Barbossa corrected him. "Tomorrow, you will sign the Articles and become a full member of our company. You will be bound, as are all your mates, to obey me. Failure to do so is punishable by flogging and even, in certain cases, death. That is our law and it is a fair one, for all our lives can depend upon the instant obedience of each man." Will tried not to flinch as the Captain's hand came to rest upon his shoulder. "I would not wish to see you flogged, Will Turner, and so I struck ye to drive home the lesson. Obey me in all things, as you would your father, and you will prosper. Do you understand me now?"

"Yes, sir," Will nodded. He thought of the skeletal pirates again and shuddered.

"Don't think of it," Barbossa advised, as if he could see into Will's head. "Come tomorrow, we will never again take such hideous shapes. You, boy, will free us from the curse." He shook Will gently for emphasis." And for that, you will have the gratitude of every man aboard this ship. Now, see if you can't get some sleep."

Will looked up. "Is that an order, sir?" he asked. There was the faintest lightening of the troubled expression about his eyes.

Barbossa's own eyes narrowed and then he gave a crack of laughter. "Cheeky sprat," he exclaimed. "No, it was a suggestion - do with it what you will. Just stay in this cabin until I tell you otherwise - and _that's_ an order." He was gone on the words and Will slumped against the table.

After a time he began to shiver, although the night was warm. He lay down and rolled himself in his blankets but it was long before he ceased to tremble and longer still before he slept.  
*********

Barbossa meanwhile had gone on deck and summoned all hands to a meeting at the foremast. When everyone had gathered, he spoke for some time in a low voice concerning Will and his place among them. "Well then," he said at last, "have I made myself clear? I've plans for Bootstrap's whelp and there is no room for meddling by any of you lot. The boy is under my protection - no man may lay a finger on him, neither in anger _nor_ in lust. Hear me well, ye gobs - keep your hands to yourselves and your pricks in your britches, or else. And remember, he thinks Jack Sparrow killed his Da. Say nothing to disabuse him of that notion. Even _think_ of defying me in this and you'll lose naught but your life."  
************

By noon the next day, the _Pearl_ had reached the Isla de Muerta. The boats were lowered and Will took his place in the lead one with Barbossa. Few words were spoken, but he could sense the excitement building to an almost unbearable degree as they rowed across the inlet and into the mouth of the tunnel. As they moved further along the channel toward the cave, the daylight behind them faded first to grey then to black, and the torches they carried began to cast a glittering sheen along the damp walls. Looking down at the water, Will saw golden reflections from the coins scattered along the shallow bottom.

The keel of their boat grated on rock and the rowers leapt out, hauling it up until it was securely grounded. Barbossa stepped ashore, drawing Will along with him, as the other boats landed to either side of them. The Captain kept hold of his arm as the crowd of pirates surged through a narrow, twisting passage and out at last into an enormous cavern.

Will stopped in his tracks, utterly amazed at the sight before him. Light streamed down from a huge hole in the roof, illuminating the astonishing hoard accumulated by the crew of the _Black Pearl_. In that blaze of sunlight, he saw heaps of treasure piled up on all sides; mountains of gold and silver and pearls rose up higher than his head. Gold coins and nuggets lay everywhere, in some places a foot deep on the floor of the cave and piled up in teetering stacks in every niche and alcove. Wealth past counting lay scattered about like drifts of golden snow.

Barbossa chuckled. "Never imagined anything like this, did ye, boy?" Will shook his head, still gaping at the riches before him. "There's a fortune to be made, with a good crew and a bit of luck. You won't be wondering anymore why your Da chose to throw in his lot with pirates, eh?" Will shook his head again. "When you come of age," Barbossa continued, "Bootstrap's share o' this will be yours - provided you join our company as your father wished."

Will looked up, his eyes huge. "Really?"

Barbossa nodded. "Your inheritance, boy - _if_, mind you, ye can learn our ways and keep yourself alive. Are you with us?" Will, dazzled by the golden vista now unfolding before his mind's eye, bobbed his head.

The buccaneers had scattered through the cavern, rooting through piles of treasure, or adding to them from sacks and chests they had brought with them from the _Pearl_. Their shouts and the clatter and clash of metal echoed from the high rock walls, redoubling the noise to a deafening roar. Barbossa drew Will along, toward the center of the cave, where the light fell strongest on a small hillock in the center of a pool of water. The sloping sides were covered in loot, and sitting on the top in a shaft of sunlight stood a large stone chest.

"Is that _the_ chest?" Will asked in an awed voice.

"It is," Barbossa replied. "Come along, time to get this done with."

They climbed up to stand beside the chest. It was carved with strange symbols, like the ones on Will's medallion, but somehow sinister. Will shivered in the hot sunlight.

Barbossa waited until all the crew had gathered around the rise and then he kicked the cover off the chest. "There it is!" he cried, as a collective sigh went up from the watching men. "The cursed treasure, all save one single piece." He drew Will's coin from his vest pocket. "Gentlemen, here be Bootstrap's coin - the eight hundred and eighty second piece of Aztec gold. And here," he continued, turning and pointing at Will, "be Bootstrap's son."

A low growl arose from the pirates. "Get on with it!" someone yelled. Shouts of agreement were heard all through the chamber.

Barbossa picked up a knife that had been lying on top of the gold pieces. It was chipped and notched - Will could not tell if it was made of gold or of gilded stone - and bore brown stains, as of dried blood. He held it high, its pitted surface glinting in the sun, and a hush fell over the buccaneers.

"Begun by blood," Barbossa intoned, "by blood undone." He took Will's hand and pressed the gold medallion into his palm. Then he lowered the knife and drew it lightly across the base of his thumb, carving a long, shallow slice into the fleshy part of Will's hand. Will jerked and gasped at the sting of the cut, but Barbossa's grip was firm, folding the boy's fingers over the coin and holding them closed. "Now," he said, "drop it."

Will opened his hand and tilted it. The coin, slippery with blood, slid off his palm and tumbled, flashing, into the chest, landing with a tiny crash atop the others. There was utter silence for the count of ten and then the cheers began. Wave after wave of hoarse jubilation crashed and echoed through the cavern. Men danced about, flinging their arms wildly above their heads. Some wept for joy. Will, descending from the little hill with Barbossa, was engulfed by a mass of pirates shouting his name and shaking his hand or pounding him ecstatically on the back. Presently, as the first paroxysms subsided, cries of "Food!" and "Rum!" began to be heard and there was a concerted rush for the boats.

Back on the _Pearl_ a feast was hastily laid out - much of it having been prepared over the past two days in anticipation of this very event - and casks of rum were broached, as well as a barrel of beer and some dozens of bottles of wine. With no ceremony whatsoever the starving men, so long deprived, fell upon the food and drink like wild animals, gobbling and guzzling and reaching greedily for more even with their hands and mouths stuffed full, until their bodies, unaccustomed to sustenance, rebelled and they fell senseless and spewing to the deck. Will watched in appalled fascination until Barbossa, who alone among them held himself back from the worst excesses, appearing in his relative restraint to be the only civilized being aboard, whispered in his ear. "Don't think too badly of them, boy. Poor blighters; it's been a long time and they'd begun to lose hope they'd ever be free again. Can't blame them for going a little mad. A day or two and they'll have themselves in hand again. Now come below. It's time you signed the Articles, all right and proper."

Will followed him into the great cabin with mixed feelings. His relief at escaping the disgusting mess on deck was tempered with trepidation. Signing the Articles meant he would truly become a pirate. There could be no going back after that. Barbossa had allowed him to read the tattered parchment two days ago and he recalled but too well the words "if any man desert the ship…he shall be shot or maroon'd" and they had chilled him. Once he put his name to _that_ he would not be permitted to change his mind; it was very clear. But his father had been a member of the _Pearl's_ crew. A pirate. And that meant he was a pirate, too. Already an outlaw - Barbossa assured him - and subject to hanging. So what choice did he have? And there was the gold…

The Captain beckoned him to the desk and put the Articles before him. Will glanced up and saw that Barbossa was watching him closely. "Well, boy?" was all he said.

Will picked up the pen and signed his name.  
**********

Life as cabin boy of the _Black Pearl_ was hard, but Will didn't notice. He had to work, to be sure, but didn't everyone? And if Barbossa - a demanding master - beat him on occasion, it was no worse than the schoolmaster's thrashings back home and not nearly as bad as the time the sexton caught him and Dickon drawing on the tombstones in the churchyard with charcoal, the summer before Dickon fell from the roof of the tithe barn and broke his neck.

He waited on the Captain's table, he helped the cook, he fed Jack the monkey, and he kept the great cabin in order. Often, in the long, lazy afternoons, Barbossa would toss him a book and bid him read aloud, while the Captain himself lounged, feet up, munching on one of his endless supply of apples or drinking wine. He was given a tiny cabin of his own, formerly a storage locker - his hammock nearly brushed the bulkheads on either side - next to the great cabin and knew himself fortunate to be so favoured.

When the _Pearl_ went into battle, he served the gun crews as powder monkey. He swiftly became accustomed to the danger and scampered to and from the powder magazine, nimble as a monkey in very truth. There was an exhilaration of spirits that came over him at such times - a thrill he felt as the _Pearl_, whose Captain chose his victims wisely, won engagement after engagement. Later, Barbossa would explain to him that this was natural - that pirates were as wolves preying upon witless sheep - and thus his excitement proved him to be a true son of his father. It was discovered that he kept a clear head and a steady hand, and he was called upon to help dress the wounds that were the inevitable consequence of even the most successful actions.

The crew called him their luck and treated him with rough friendliness, alternately teasing him and teaching him to be a sailor. Under their tutelage, he learned the _Pearl_, stem to stern, with all her caprices and secrets. They taught him to splice and knot, how to set a sail, and how to bend on a new one in a rising wind.

Captain Barbossa, by far the best swordsman among them, undertook to teach him to fight. The lessons always left Will bruised and aching with fatigue - for Barbossa drove him hard - but with an ever-increasing respect for the skill of his teacher and a fierce desire to grow to equal him.

He became familiar with the port of Tortuga, whither they went to re-supply. Unlike most of the crew, he slept aboard the _Pearl_, going ashore only when sent on errands by the Captain, who charged him strictly to avoid all strangers and tell his name to no-one. He learned all the haunts where the _Pearl's_ men spent their leave, low taverns and whorehouses - where he became adept at brushing off the advances of whores of each sex (and of none). Often, on sailing day, he'd make the rounds early in the morning, when most revelers were sunk in sodden sleep, to collect strayed crewmen and hale them back on board.

And, best of all in this new life, Will loved the sea. He gloried in her every mood and aspect, from luminous dawn in a glassy calm, to a full gale with great waves crashing over the bow beneath black and boiling skies and the rigging taut and singing. He knew the sea to be his true home; he couldn't imagine ever again living on land.

One day, after the _Pearl_ had raided a Spanish town and left it, a smoking ruin, far astern, the Captain called Will to the great cabin and showed him a large book, bound in black leather, that had been taken as plunder. The first few pages, written in a clerkly hand, were - for Barbossa knew some Spanish - a history of the town. It was unfinished and the bulk of the book was yet a blank. The Captain told Will that he desired to set down his own history and that of the _Black Pearl_ and that Will was to be his scribe. Accordingly for several hours that day and from time to time for weeks afterward, Barbossa would pace the cabin, telling tales while Will wrote them down. If some of the stories seemed improbable or too highly-coloured to be real, Will did not say so, for nothing roused the Captain's temper faster than what he took to be aspersions cast upon his honour or truthfulness and Will had no desire to borrow trouble. So he transcribed what was dictated to him, scrambling at times to keep up, and made no comment.  
**************

Will had been with the _Pearl_ for nearly a year, when Barbossa at last allowed him to go ashore with a raiding party. The defenses - a single gun battery on the mole - had been reduced to rubble by bombardment - and the town lay open and ready for the taking. Terrified citizens could be seen fleeing up the road that led to the hills, but, as their twin goals were the warehouse and the church, this did not concern the pirates over much.

Once ashore, they split into two parties. One set to work plundering the warehouse on the mole; the other, of which Will was a part, made for the church. As they dashed through the narrow streets toward the village square, they encountered a small force of militia, hastily assembled by the mayor. Before these volunteers could fire their blunderbusses or raise their pikes, the pirates cut them down and swept on unchecked. Will, caught in the press, slipped in the blood and trod on a dying man. His stomach heaved.

They dashed across the square and into the church. Sweeping the altar clean, they tossed the gold into a sack and turned to leave. The square, which had been empty of life just moments before, now contained some fifty villagers, screaming epithets and brandishing makeshift weapons. Will saw pitchforks, boat hooks, cleavers and machetes waving in the air above the crowd gathered to block their escape. "Sacrilege!" they screamed. "Animals!"

The raiding party was nearly thirty strong and better armed than their opponents. They fired their pistols at the villagers, dropping several of the leaders, and then closed ranks and charged. It was soon over - the defenders were routed and fled, leaving a number of dead and wounded behind. Will gazed around, bewildered. He had fought - his sword was stained red - but the confusion was so great he could remember nothing clearly. Lying on the cobblestones nearby was a young man hardly older than he, gasping and clutching his bloody side. Moved by he knew not what, perhaps it was pity, Will took a step in his direction, only to stop as the wounded man raised his head and spat at him. "Godless animal!" the man cried, "Murderer! Scum!" The blazing hatred Will saw in his face stuck him like a blow. Someone grabbed his arm and then they were running, down the hill and back to the boats.

That evening, on the _Pearl_, as the others drank themselves legless in celebration of yet another victory, Will sat apart, brooding. They had toasted him - his crewmates - and he had drunk with them, knowing it was expected, but he felt none of their simple glee over the rich haul they had made. He wondered if the wounded man who had shouted at him would live, whether he had a family to take care of him…

He looked up with a start as Barbossa sat down next to him. "I hear you gave a good account of yourself today," the Captain said. Will looked away and said nothing. Barbossa went on, "Did you clean your sword?" Will nodded. "Let me see, then." Will drew the blade and Barbossa took it, holding it up in the flaring torchlight, turning it this way and that. Satisfied, he handed it back. "Well done, boy." Will sheathed his sword and remained silent.

"They are sheep," Barbossa said, after a time.

Will sighed. "He looked at me as if he hated me."

"And so he does," Barbossa replied. "The weak always hate the strong. Hate - and envy; for don't you think sheep would become wolves, if they could?"

"Yes, but…"

"They will kill you if they can, boy. This is why you must always be faster and stronger. Never give them a chance. Be ruthless, strike first, or they will drag you down."

"That is cruel," Will replied.

"The world is a cruel place," Barbossa nodded. "And Fortune a faithless jade." He dropped a heavy hand on Will's shoulder and gave it a shake. "Only the toughest survive. You have it in you to be a great pirate one day. Harden your heart, lad, and make your father's ghost proud."

Will nodded. As soon as he could do so unnoticed, he slipped away to his hammock, where he lay long awake and slept at last, only to dream of blood and screams and a pair of accusing eyes.


	2. Prologue, Elizabeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Swann, aged 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: G

**One year later, in Port Royal**

Miss Swann rode past the gates of Government House and down through the town with a swelling heart. Not only did her new riding costume become her very well (indeed, it made her look quite like a grown-up lady), but - even better - it was the first time Papa had let her ride her new chestnut mare beyond the grounds.

Sprite had arrived last week, on her fourteenth birthday, but her father had insisted that she keep within the grounds until he was satisfied that she could manage a real horse, after jogging along on the grey pony for years.

When he caught them jumping the paddock gate he had threatened to forbid her the use of the mare altogether, but a careful mix of cajolery and long faces had soon brought him round. This morning at breakfast he had laughed and pinched her cheek - calling her a willful minx - and relented.

She had hurried upstairs to change and, when she had returned to the breakfast parlor to take her leave, found Captain Norrington sitting with her father. When he rose and bowed over her hand she fancied she saw admiration in his glance and she smiled warmly upon him. But when he offered to accompany her on her ride, she felt that her cup runneth over. To have the handsome and dashing Captain Norrington at her side as they rode through the town for all to see! Captain Norrington, with whom all her friends were a little in love! She kissed her father and waited impatiently for the Captain to take his leave, practically dragging him out of the room as she chattered excitedly about her beautiful mare and the lovely, long ride she wished to take.

For his part, Captain Norrington found Elizabeth both enchanting and amusing. She had always been an engaging child, but now, on the cusp of young-ladyhood, she was more than ever a mercurial creature - subject to bewildering shifts of mood. One moment she might be a bouncing hoyden (trying to inveigle him into climbing trees with her) and the next she might favour him with her best approximation of a bored sophisticate, playing off what she fancied were airs of the great world. Thanks to experience with three younger sisters and a raft of female cousins, such playacting was familiar to him and he was able to check her more excessive flights without her being aware of it. Her father, who often found raising a daughter to be a sadly perplexing task, had expressed his gratitude in heartfelt terms.

After praising the mare to Elizabeth's satisfaction, Norrington tossed her up into the saddle. She settled her skirts as he mounted and they set off, the groom following at a discreet distance. Their object was a stretch of beach outside Port Royal, where they could let the horses have their heads, as Elizabeth had expressed a wish to try the mare's paces. Accordingly, they went down through the town, skirting the port district as being unsuitable for young ladies, and headed east past the last straggling houses.

Elizabeth was enjoying herself beyond even her expectations. She had seen no fewer than five acquaintances in town - including her _particular_ friend Miss Johnson - and knew herself to be an object of envy in each heart. She thought blissfully of the letter she would presently write to her cousin Cynthia back home in England, relating her triumph. She glanced at Captain Norrington, riding sedately at her side, and a daring idea came into her head - a way to crown an already noteworthy day with something truly extraordinary. But how to achieve it? She chewed her lip and began to plot.

Norrington watched his charge with an inner smile. She had fallen silent as soon as the town had been left behind. Before that, she had been playing at being a great lady, all gracious smiles, nods and bright laughter - taking good care that her friends noticed she was riding out with an officer. Now, she rode along sunk in thought. He knew the signs - Elizabeth was up to mischief. He wondered how worried he should be.

They reached the shore and rode out onto the packed sand at the water's edge. They had cantered for about half a mile when Elizabeth clapped her heels to the mare's side and they sprang forward at a gallop, Norrington and the groom in pursuit. The little mare was fleet, but Norrington's big bay, with his longer legs, kept pace easily. At last she pulled up, flushed and laughing, and they breathed the horses, walking them on toward the rocky point that terminated the strand. The groom came up just as they dismounted. Leaving the horses with him, they strolled amongst the nearby tide pools, peering at the curious creatures living therein.

Suddenly, Elizabeth gave a sharp cry and stumbled heavily against Norrington, who grasped her arm to stop her falling into the water.

"Miss Swann! What is the matter?" he cried, as she clung to him.

"My ankle," she panted, "I must have twisted it. Ohhhhh, it hurts!" And she fainted dead away in his arms.

Norrington might have been more alarmed had he not noticed her lashes fluttering in a manner quite out of keeping with her pose of insensibility. When he picked her up, her head rolled, as if by chance, against his shoulder and her lips pursed themselves invitingly. The little baggage, he thought, hiding a grin.

He strode down to the beach, calling to the groom as he did so, "John, Miss Swann has fainted. Get the flask you will find in my saddlebag and bring it to me."

When John came running with the requested item, Norrington knelt and laid his burden down on the sand, keeping one arm around her shoulders, so that she was half sitting.. He noted that the pucker had begun to resemble a pout. Winking at the groom, who at first looked puzzled and then began to grin, he said, "See if you can't keep the crabs away from Miss Swann's skirts. I know there are a great many of them, but do your best." Elizabeth shuddered.

"Give me the flask, man," Norrington snapped, "I believe she is coming around." Then, to Elizabeth, he said, "Miss Swann, can you hear me? You fainted, but you will be better presently. _Have a care with those crabs, John!_ I am going to give you a sip of something to restore you."

Elizabeth's feet twitched and she moaned faintly and opened her eyes. "Captain Norrington?"

"I am here. Now, can you be a brave girl and drink this for me?" He held the flask to her lips and obliged her to take a sip. She choked and began to cough.

"What is that horrid stuff?" she gasped.

"It is rum," he replied, his gravity sorely tried, "Hardly fit for a lady, but as a restorative it is quite effective. _John, I thought I told you to keep the crabs away from Miss Swann._"

Elizabeth shrieked, scrambled to her feet, and fled.

The ride back to Government House was accomplished in dignified silence. When they reached the front door, Elizabeth leapt down without waiting for assistance and went inside with something very like a flounce.

Norrington looked at the groom, where he stood holding the mare and the two men smiled. A coin changed hands and John touched his cap. "Thank you, sir. And if I may make so bold, well done," he said, "Miss can be a rare handful when she gets up to her tricks and you handled her a treat." Emboldened by the laugh this evoked from the Captain, he went on to say, "The man who marries her will have more than his share of worry."

Norrington smiled again as he reined his horse around. "Do you think so indeed?" he said. "I wonder." He touched his heel to the bay's flank and was gone.


	3. Five years later; Speightstown, Barbados

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will learns a hard lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rated E. Warning: non-con

The assault had been a success; with the fort now held by pirates, the _Pearl_ had the town her mercy. It was the first time Barbossa had allowed Will - by now the best warrior on the _Pearl_ \- to plan and command the action entirely on his own and he had done so in a manner to please the most exacting master. Will had gone ashore with the first wave, to complete the reduction of the fort, and he was kept busy for some hours, arranging matters to his satisfaction. He had the remnant of the garrison locked up and saw to the manning of the fort's remaining guns with the best of the _Pearl's_ gunners. It took time, but in the end they had swung most of the cannons around and trained them on the town. The pirates were amusing themselves with firing over top of the buildings, creating a huge din but - for the present - following Will's orders to do no damage.

Barbossa had taken the inn just outside the fort gates as his headquarters and it was there that a delegation of leading citizens, headed by the mayor, waited upon him to hear his terms. They were harsh; fifty thousand gold pieces, to be delivered no later than sundown the next day.

The men begged and pleaded, claiming that such a sum was not to be found. Barbossa merely laughed and pointed out that sacking the town, while more work for his men, would certainly yield the equivalent of fifty thousand pieces, if not more. The delegation blanched and fell to whispering among themselves.

"Take your time," Barbossa told them, "But I will not be able to hold my men in check for long if they grow impatient."

At last the mayor stepped forward, wringing his hands, and stammered that the ransom would be paid by the time specified.

"Very wise of you," the pirate chuckled. "And now gentlemen, I call your attention to this table, bearing pens and paper. You will each write the necessary instructions to your families and associates, concerning the raising of the ransom, and you," he said, pointing to one man at random, "will bear them all. The rest of you will remain in the fort as my guests. In the event that the ransom is late, I shall hang one of you from the walls each hour until it is paid."

The hostages did as they were ordered and were then hustled off to the dungeon of the fort. As they were taken away, Barbossa beckoned to the big black known as Bo's'n and murmured, "Get me a girl." Bo's'n grinned.

"Aye, sir," he replied, and slipped out the back door, on his way to the town.

Barbossa rose and stretched, grinning to himself in anticipation, and surveyed the common room - full to the walls with pirates, drinking and carousing. He waded through them to the bar and scooped up a tankard of rum. Raising it high, he shouted, "Men, take what you can!" and the room roared the response, "Give nothin' back!"

He circulated for a time amongst them, laughing and drinking, always with one eye upon the door. When Bo's'n appeared, holding a struggling maidservant by one arm, Barbossa jerked his head toward the open staircase that ran up to the gallery that circled the high room. The slender young woman - hardly more than a girl - screamed and redoubled her efforts to escape, but the black dragged her through the now silent crowd with ease. Barbossa met them at the foot of the stairs. He brushed the girl's long light-brown hair back from her face and tilted her chin up. "You're a pretty one, sweetheart," he said. "Be kind to a lonely sailor. Give us a kiss."

She struck him in the face with all her strength. The pirates roared with laughter. Barbossa smiled. He twisted her arms behind her back and forced her up the stairs. "You'll regret that, missy." On the half-landing he paused and turned her to face the crowded room, which echoed with cheers and catcalls. "Your turn next, boys!" he shouted.

The girl's shriek was lost in the cacophony that erupted as the pirates whooped and cheered. She struggled frantically as Barbossa dragged her up the second flight and along the balcony, crying, "Let me go! Please! Help me! Someone, help me! Oh God, please let me go!" Her words were cut off as Barbossa shoved her into a room, entered himself, and slammed the door.

Shortly thereafter a shrill scream was heard, then another and the words "NO!" and "Help me!" After a pause, the screams began again and went on for some time, growing steadily weaker. The men in the common room chuckled. "Proper hellcat, she must be," they said. "Hope the Captain leaves somethin' for us."

Will walked slowly out of the fort and down to the inn. He was tired, but it was the best kind of fatigue - that of a job well done. Everything had gone according to his plan; he felt a little surge of pride at the thought. He had taken fort and town with a minimum of losses - to either side. Will had never developed the taste for wholesale slaughter that some of his mates so reveled in. If he could get the gold without it, he'd just as soon leave the sheep alive as not. It made sense, he thought, to leave them alive to grow more fleece, like a wise shepherd. Chuckling at his flight of fancy, he wondered if all the whores had gone into hiding along with everyone else. He wanted a woman, and he was in the mood to be generous to the right one - someone who knew how to laugh as well as fuck. He entered the common room and stood for a moment watching the men celebrate. It looked as if everyone not on duty was here. He was pleased to think that they were obeying his order to stay out of town and leave the townsfolk alone.

Movement on the stairs caught his eye. Barbossa stood on the half-landing, holding a woman by the arm. Well, _he_ found a whore, at any rate, Will thought, amused. But then something about her demeanor caught his attention and he looked closer, squinting to see through the eddies of smoke that filled the large room. She was dressed only in a torn shift, the bodice of which she held closed with one shaking hand. Through the tangled hair that half-covered her face, Will saw a livid bruise upon her cheekbone. Her mouth was swollen and bloody. With a thrill of horror, Will noticed the blood on her skirts. That was no whore! He began to push through the crowd.

Barbossa dragged the girl to the banister. "Show them what you've got, bitch," he said, and ripped her shift down the front. She sobbed and clutched at the garment, but he pinned her arms and thrust her forward. Her breasts bore teeth marks, some of which still bled. "Well gentlemen," he cried, "who wants to be next?" He swung her up and held her over the rail, above the mob that seethed and howled wildly.

Will beat upon the backs of those blocking his way but could make no progress - all attention was fixed firmly on Barbossa and the girl. Will's shout was lost in the roaring of the pirates. He must stop this! At that instant Barbossa let go his hold and dropped her into the upraised arms of the men nearest the stairs. With a piercing wail, the girl vanished from Will's sight.

Frantic now, Will kicked and punched like a man possessed, forcing his way to the front of the room by brute strength. He burst through the front rank of men just as a shocked silence fell over them and they began to back away from something on the floor. Will looked down. She lay on her back in a spreading pool of blood, her throat slashed, eyes wide and staring. Will saw that she was - _had been_ \- young, no older than he, and that her hair was golden-brown. He gagged.

"Who did this?" he asked, looking from face to face, his voice low and deadly. "_Who?_"

"She done it herself, Will" one said. "Aye, she did," said another. They were all nodding. "She kilt herself." "Aye, grabbed Hatch's dagger and cut her own throat."

Will looked up at Barbossa. Their eyes locked; Will's blazing, Barbossa's cold and flat as a snake's. Barbossa turned and went upstairs and into his room. The click of the latch was like a pistol shot in the silence.

Will looked down at the dead girl. "Bury her decently," he said at last. "And clean up this mess." He headed for the stairs.

Outside Barbossa's door he paused for a moment and then entered without knocking. "What," he asked, "in the name of HELL do you think you are _doing_?"

Barbossa stretched his legs out before him and leaned back in his chair. "Surely, boy," he smiled, "that must be obvious, even to you."

"But why like _that_?" Will shouted, pointing at the torn dress still lying on the floor. "Why not a willing whore?"

"Because I'd a taste for fresher meat," Barbossa chuckled. "The struggle adds a very pleasing spice to the dish. You should try it, sometime."

"Not bloody likely. It's… disgusting." Will clenched his fists and strode up and down the room distractedly.

Barbossa shook his head. "I've not managed even yet to rid you of your girlish tender-heartedness, have I?" he asked, with mock solicitude. "Such concern for prey ill becomes a pirate, Will."

"And that's another thing," Will rounded on him. "What about the plan to leave the town untouched unless they failed to pay ransom?"

Barbossa shrugged. "One maidservant…"

"Is one too many!" Will cried. "This operation was mine to plan and execute - you gave it me, I earned the right. I will not have it destroyed like this."

Barbossa stood, an unpleasant light in his eye. "Oh ho," he sneered. "You 'will not have it', eh? Hearken to a _cabin boy_ grown too big for his britches. Watch your tongue around your Captain, _cabin boy_." And he slapped Will across the face.

Without thinking, Will slapped him back.

Quick as a striking snake, Barbossa shoved Will back against the wall and held him there with a knife to his throat. "You struck me, boy. Shall I tell you what happened to the last person to do that?" Will glared at him without answering. Barbossa laughed softly. "No," he said, "I've a better idea. I will _show_ you." He plucked Will's pistol and dagger from his sash and tossed them onto the chair across the room. Will's sword followed.

Barbossa took Will's jaw in his free hand and kissed him hard, biting his lips. Will gasped.

"What…" he began. Barbossa cut him off.

"You said you _wouldn't have it_, when I took a woman," he mocked. He turned Will's head to face him, grip bruising, nails digging in painfully. "Well, then, fair enough. You're prettier than most girls… and _you're_ mine."

"No!" Will said, "I won't. I never…"

"Never what, _boy_? Never had a man fuck you?" Barbossa kissed him again, pressing the knife against his throat when he tried to pull away. "Well, it's high time you learned to take it like the soft-hearted girl you are. Who knows? You may discover you've a taste for it." He laughed again, the sound made Will shudder. "Two virgins in one afternoon. Must be my lucky day."

"Barbossa, you bastard, let me go. I will not do this."

"You will," Barbossa replied, reaching to unbutton Will's breeches. "Insubordination, Will Turner, will earn you a flogging on top of a fucking. I'd hate to see such a lovely body scarred by the lash." He took hold of Will's cock as he spoke and stroked it roughly.

Will groaned and willed his body not to respond, to no avail. He flushed scarlet as he stiffened in Barbossa's clever grip. He groaned again as he was spun round and slammed face-first into the wall. Barbossa pulled his coat and waistcoat off his shoulders and down to his elbows, effectively binding his arms. His breeches were yanked down and he bit his lip as two oily fingers forced their way inside him. The fingers twisted, wrenching at him savagely; he barely stopped himself from whimpering. His head was pulled back and Barbossa bit his mouth. "You _will_ cry out for me, boy, so don't try to be brave. It will only make me harder on you. Don't fight it. Be grateful I am getting you ready for my cock." Barbossa added a third finger as he spoke and Will whimpered. "That's it, boy. Give in."

He turned Will and bent him over the table, holding him in place with a hand pressed to the small of his back, fingers working ever deeper, opening and preparing him. Will closed his eyes and tried not to think about what would happen next. At last the tormenting fingers were withdrawn, replaced moments later by the blunt head of Barbossa's cock. Barbossa took hold of his hips and pushed hard, sinking balls-deep on the first thrust. Will cried out hoarsely. The invading flesh felt huge and it burned like a rod of fire. Barbossa laughed and thrust again and again, wringing more cries from Will.

"It's all one to me, boy," he said, fucking Will hard, "I find you delicious this way - taut and struggling just suits my humor - but it would hurt you less to submit yourself to me."

"Never," Will replied, through clenched teeth.

But when Barbossa reached around and began to stroke Will's cock, Will was appalled to hear himself start to plead. "Please," he whimpered, "please."

"That's better," Barbossa laughed, "Now, admit that I own you. Tell me you are mine."

"Barbossa…" Will gasped.

"Call me Hector, _boy._ It ought to be first names between us by now, wouldn't you say? At least when I've got my prick buried in your lovely, tight arse. Say it. Say 'I'm yours, Hector.'"

Will was silent. Suddenly Barbossa stopped moving. He pressed his hips tight against Will's ass and froze. His hand stopped moving on Will's cock and he waited. "No," Will panted, wriggling, "please."

"Avid as a bitch in heat, after all." Barbossa whispered. "What a lovely thing it is to see you break. Say it."

Will sobbed once and whispered something.

"Louder, boy. I want to hear you. Speak up."

"I… I'm yours, Hector."

Barbossa began to move. "There now, it wasn’t so difficult, was it?" He stroked Will's cock hard and fast and Will spent himself with a cry, panting as if he had just run a race. Barbossa then took his time coming to his own completion, enjoying to the full the broken moans of the man beneath him as he thrust himself into flesh made painfully sensitive by climax. At last he came with a muffled grunt and withdrew from Will's body.

He fastened his breeches and looked down at Will, who had not moved and appeared to be unconscious. Taking up a pitcher of water, he dumped it over Will's head, saying as he did so. "Get up and dress yourself."

Will stood painfully and struggled out of his coat. Slowly, he put himself to rights. He did not look at Barbossa, who sat watching him with a gloating smile.

"Now, _cabin boy_," he said as Will finished dressing and was putting on his sword. "You are relieved of command of this expedition. You will return to the _Pearl_, take charge of the gun crews there, and await my orders. Under no circumstances are you to leave the ship without my express permission, do you understand?"

"Aye, Captain."

"Oh, and you will move your things into my cabin. Yours will be needed for storage of the ransom."

Will shuddered. "Aye, Captain."

"Now get out of my sight."

Will went without another word. He stumbled blindly down the stairs and through the common room. Once free of the inn, the cool night breeze made him shiver as the sweat dried on his skin. He fell to his knees and puked as if he would heave up his very stomach. Then he staggered to his feet and returned to the _Pearl_. He had nowhere else to go.


	4. One year later in Port Royal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Norringtons at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rated E.

**Elizabeth's wedding ball**

Elizabeth Norrington paused to look over the crowded ballroom, her hand tucked in her father's arm. Her eyes met those of her husband, as he danced with old Lady Westonfold, and she blushed.

"He is a fine man, Elizabeth," her father said.

Elizabeth smiled, her eyes still on the dancers. "He is, Father, very fine."

"I could not have parted with you, my dear, to anyone less worthy," the Governor continued. He sighed. "Your mother would have been so happy to have seen this day."

Elizabeth, seeing the sorrow in her father's eyes, stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. After a moment, he smiled and patted her hand. "Well, well, ancient history! Come, my dear, allow me to get you some punch."

They made their way toward the refreshment room, but their progress was slowed by the number of well-wishers who stopped them to offer their felicitations to the bride. They had not gone far when they were joined by the Commodore, who, freed at last from duty-dances, had every intention of dancing the next set with his wife.

Elizabeth took his arm and walked on between the two men. She smiled and chatted to their guests, if with a slightly mechanical civility; the greater part of her attention was fixed upon her husband, although she was careful to avoid looking his way, fearing for her composure if she did so. A pleasant yet uneasy fluttering had been growing in her breast all day; this was her wedding night. Unconsciously, her hand tightened upon James's arm and he turned to look at her. Feeling his regard, she blushed again, and dared to glance up at his face. His eyes had darkened in a way that made her pulses race and she looked hastily away, biting her lip. At this moment her father, by no means oblivious to this byplay, said, "Ah! There is Master Boniface. I must speak with him. My dears, if you will excuse me…" and he left them with a smile.

The Norringtons walked on. The music struck up and, for a moment, everyone's attention was on the dance floor. Elizabeth, seizing the opportunity, tugged sharply on James's arm and whisked the two of them through a curtained archway.

"Elizabeth, what in the name of heaven…" James began.

"Shhh!" she said, hurrying him along the corridor until they reached a closed door. "Father's office," she whispered, opening the door and pulling him through it.

The lock clicked and she turned to him, her face a study in mischief. "There! I have been wanting to be alone with you forever." When he didn't move, she danced closer to him and looked up, all prim mouth and teasing eyes. "Why, Commodore Norrington," she murmured, provocative and demure at once, "you look shocked. Surely the Scourge of Piracy in the Caribbean is not… _afraid_?" and she placed her palm delicately on the breast of his coat.

The next instant she was swept into a crushing embrace. "Elizabeth, you are playing with fire," James said, his voice shaking.

"Oh, James, I _do_ hope so," she smiled.

He laughed at that. "Why, you little _baggage_!" he exclaimed, and kissed her.

When at last they separated, she clung to him, afraid her legs would not support her. "Oh my," she said, panting a little, "You have never kissed me like _that_ before!"

Concern sprang into his eyes. "Elizabeth…" he began, but she stopped him, pressing her fingers to his lips.

"Do it again?" she asked. "Please?"

His brow cleared but he shook his head ruefully. "Not yet, else we will never make it back to the ball."

She made a moue of disappointment, then brightened. "Supper is in half an hour, at midnight. We can leave after the healths are drunk; slip away before the dancing begins again. Father can arrange for our carriage to be ready without alerting anyone. Come!" She took his hand and they went back to the ball.  
**********

As the dawn light filled their bedchamber the next morning, James Norrington watched his wife sleep. She lay on her side, facing him, one slim hand tucked beneath her pillow. _His wife,_ he thought. A surge of tenderness shook him. Her hair was tumbled about her head, one tendril lying against her sleep-flushed cheek. Very gently, he tucked it back. She stirred, murmured something, and settled again into slumber.

The light was increasing; the sun would soon be up. Through the open window he heard the cocks crowing and the sound of shutters being pushed back in the rooms below. The house was awake. He lay staring out between the parted drapes (open at Elizabeth's insistence) and thought of the night just past.

Innocent, eager, ardent, and fearless; she had met his passion with one of her own, to his great delight and secret relief.

He thought with amusement of the letter he had received last month from his sister Jane, Lady Greenhill. She was ten years his senior; a formidable and outspoken matron and he loved her dearly. Her letter had astonished him; he had been mortified and even a little angry, but he had read it often enough in the weeks following its arrival to be able to quote parts of it from memory.

_"I fear that you will let your innate chivalry prompt you to be over-careful with your bride in the marital act," _ she had written with the paralyzing frankness that characterized her. _"As I am your eldest sister, I am sure you will not take it amiss if I just give you a hint. I know you, Brother, and the very gentleness which will make you an excellent husband may prove your enemy on your wedding night. Strive to remember that delicacy is not the same thing as fragility. Your Elizabeth is stronger than you yet realize; she is not made of glass. Cherish her judiciously; do not be afraid to demonstrate your love for her. She will thank you for it; as you, in turn, will - or ought to - thank me." _ She had gone on to praise Elizabeth, whom she had met the year before in London, as a remarkably unaffected and refreshing girl. And she had closed with still more forthrightness. _"You are, I trust,"_ she wrote, _ "inexperienced - in the carnal sense - with young women of our class. Let me assure you that gentlewomen are as capable of enjoying 'bedsports' (as my dear Greenhill so divertingly names them) as are their less sheltered sisters. You are a very fortunate man, my dear James; do you take care to make good use of your opportunities." _

Dear Jane, he thought with a smile, knew a thing or two; that was certain. He would write - as ordered - to thank her before the next courier sailed for England. How she would enjoy that.

Beside him, Elizabeth stretched and opened her eyes. She blinked sleepily and then nestled against James, one arm about his waist and her head tucked under his chin. "Good morning, husband," she mumbled into his chest as his arms went around her and held her close.

James kissed her hair. "Good morning, wife," he replied, marveling at the easy familiarity of the moment. "I love you," he whispered.

At that she tilted her head back to look at him. Very slowly, she smiled. "I love you," she said, offering him her mouth. He kissed her softly; mouth, each eyelid, chin and mouth again.

"How do you… feel, this morning?" he asked.

"Mmmmm," she hummed, stretching once more. "Most excellently well, barring a little - rather pleasant - soreness here and there." Her eyes began to dance. "I am not made of glass, darling James."

He chuckled. "So I am told," he said.

"By whom?"

"My sister Jane."

It was her turn to laugh. "Dear Lady Greenhill," she said, snuggling closer. "She wrote to me, you know."

"Did she," James replied, suddenly wary, "What did she have to say?"

Elizabeth grinned against his chest. "I shan't tell you. She said it wouldn't be good for you to hear, and I agree with her."

"This is a fine thing," he said, aggrieved. "Not yet a full day in the family and already you are in league with my sister against me. I don't know what you deserve."

"Kisses," she replied promptly.

"Shameless wench!" he grumbled, "I don't know that I shall oblige you."

"Ah," she cried, sitting up and clapping her hands. "Then you must pay a forfeit."

"What sort of forfeit?

"Take off your nightshirt," she said, suddenly serious. "Please? I have never seen a man… unclothed."

He hesitated only a moment - during which a tiny, shocked voice in his mind cried impropriety, until he told it to hush. He kicked the covers aside, sat up and pulled the garment over his head. "Just as you wish," he said, lying back down.

"Oh," she said, eyes wide. She studied him without moving, her rapt gaze surveying him from head to toe. "But you are beautiful," she whispered, and blushed.

James flushed, completely taken aback by her reaction to the sight of his body. He gasped as cool fingers ran through the sprinkling of hair on his chest and stroked his nipple, which hardened at the touch. Wonderingly, Elizabeth brought her other hand to her own breast, lightly pinching until her nipple stood out against the linen of her nightgown. James replaced that hand with his own, cupping her breast and rolling the nipple very gently between his fingers. She sighed and continued her exploration. Her hand moved across his chest and abdomen, until it found the trail of hair leading down from his navel. Feather-light, her fingers moved lower still, running through the thicker curls at his groin before closing softly about his erection.

"Elizabeth," he groaned.

"James?" Her voice was low and breathless.

"Have a care," he said, with the ghost of a laugh, "It is loaded and might go off in your hand."

She smiled as she tightened her grip a fraction. "Would that give you pleasure?"

James groaned again and closed his eyes for a moment. "Very much," he replied, "But I have a better idea." She tore her eyes away from his cock long enough to look a question. "Would you like to ride me?" he asked.

Elizabeth's mouth fell open in astonishment. "Ride you?" She giggled. "Oh yes, if you please!"

"But first," James said, as she rose to her knees. "Take _your_ nightgown off."

In a twinkling, the ribbons at neck and wrists were undone and her gown floated down to join his on the floor. He sighed with pleasure, admiring the slender body thus exposed to his view. She blushed under his gaze and met his eye shyly. "What do I do, now?" she asked.

"First, like so." James helped her to straddle his waist. The sight of the blood staining her thighs gave him pause. "Elizabeth," he said, drawing his hands from her waist to her knees, "perhaps we should wait. It might be uncomfortable for you, so soon after last night."

Elizabeth smiled and leaned down until her mouth touched his. "Beloved, please believe me, I wish with all my heart to do this."

"But I would not cause you pain."

"I will tell you if you hurt me," Elizabeth said, kissing him again. "You have my word."

James allowed himself to be persuaded, urged by the soft thighs clasping his waist and the buttocks nudging deliciously at his cock. "Very well then," he said. He helped her to rise up and move back over his hips while with one hand he positioned his erection.

As she sank down onto him a soft cry burst from her. "It stings," she cried. He steadied her, clasping her waist and willing himself to stillness.

"Wait," he said, "Let us see if it does not pass in a moment." He drew her down and kissed her again and again, nibbling on her lips and teasing her tongue with his own. After a short time, she sighed and sat up, settling down all the way until their bodies were pressed together.

"Ohhh," she gasped, "You were right. It feels so good now."

James, his hands on her hips, urged her to rise and sink down again. Her eyes closed and her head fell forward as she moved, languid at first and then faster, harder. James began thrusting upward to meet her. Her head came up and her eyes flew wide. As their motion grew wilder she gave little cries, breathless whimpers of pleasure. James slipped a hand between their bodies, deftly stroking her as his own climax neared. Her cries became ragged and ended on a wail; she stiffened and her head fell forward again as James spent himself with one last thrust.

Gently he drew her down to lie atop him, soothing and cradling her as she shuddered and sighed. He rolled them onto their sides and settled her against him, her head upon his shoulder. When he tried to tilt her chin up to kiss her, she buried her face in his neck and would not look at him.

"Darling, what is the matter?" he asked.

She whispered something that sounded to him like "I'm sorry."

"Sorry, Elizabeth?" James said, astonished, "Sorry for what?"

It was some time before he could persuade her to speak up, but at last, with much coaxing she whispered in his ear. "Those noises I made… I couldn't stop them… so ashamed…."

He stopped himself from chuckling just in time. "Darling, look at me," he said, kissing her temple. "Come, look at me." She raised her head, eyes bright with unshed tears, and his heart turned over with love and pity. He smiled and kissed her gently. "It took you by surprise, that is all," he said. "It is perfectly natural to cry out in pleasure, dearest, did you not know?"

Elizabeth shook her head and blushed. "It sounded so … wild," she whispered.

"And did you not feel wild at that moment?" James asked her. Her blush deepened and she nodded. "Well, then…?"

Elizabeth still looked doubtful.

James tried another tack. "Darling girl," he said, kissing her nose. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you were in that state?"

"I was?" she asked, astonished.

"Exquisitely so," he nodded. "More lovely than you have ever been, which is saying a good deal."

"I don't believe you." She blushed yet again and tried to hide her face but he prevented her.

"Elizabeth," James said, "I do not know how to express this without sounding like a coxcomb. To bring you to that - to the very peak of ecstasy - doubles my own pleasure; the sight and sound, the _feel_ of you at that moment, fills me with something beyond words. I am both proud and humbled." He kissed her again. "If you could but see with my eyes and hear with my ears, you would understand."

After a long moment, she relaxed against him and put her head once more upon his shoulder. "It's just that it frightened me," she said, her voice soft and dreamy.

"Because you were not expecting it," he soothed, rubbing her back and kissing her hair. "Next time will be better. Sleep now, dearest."

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes," she said. Her eyes drifted closed and in a few moments her breathing took on the rhythm of sleep.

James pulled the sheet up to cover them and let sleep take him.

He woke to broad daylight and the feel of Elizabeth's lips pressed to the underside of his jaw.

"You taste good," she murmured between kisses.

He tipped his head and captured her mouth with his. She sighed happily as his tongue sought entrance, opened to him and shivered as their tongues played lazily, stroking and gliding in a slow dance. "So do you," he replied at last. He tucked her head under his chin and smoothed his hand from her shoulder blade to her hip and thence, when she threw her leg over his thighs, to her knee. He repeated the caress slowly, rhythmically and Elizabeth hummed her appreciation. For some time neither spoke. James marveled again at the undemanding, easeful comfort of her presence and knew himself for a very lucky man. It had been worth it, the long wait; his beloved Elizabeth was his at last.

He was unaware that he had spoken this thought aloud until she said, "I was always yours, James." Her arms tightened around his waist. "I knew it eight years ago, on the crossing from England. You were so kind to me when Father and my maid were both ill."

He smiled. "I rather thought that keeping you occupied was being kind to your father and the maid."

Elizabeth ignored this sally. In a thoughtful voice, she continued, "Of course, I couldn't let you know until I was sure you would be successful. Couldn't risk throwing myself away on a _nobody_! But, once you were made Commodore, my qualms were allayed."

"Pull the other leg, dearest, it's got bells on," James chuckled. "If your motives in bestowing your hand were entirely mercenary, then how is it that you did not accept Lord Bolton's proposal, when he was here two years ago? If you had done so, you would have been a Duchess by now."

"No," she replied seriously, "That is where you are out. It is common knowledge that the family is all to pieces; quite rolled up. They have let their town house and every acre of the estate that isn't part of the entail was sold off years ago. A pauper Duke is no catch." She paused. "And he wrote me such very bad poetry."

"That ridiculous puppy had the effrontery to write you _poetry_?"

The outraged disgust in his voice was too much for Elizabeth and she giggled. "_Terrible_ poetry. It was the most bewildering mishmash of images and sentiments imaginable. I could never work out whether he thought of me as a rose or the new Diana. I think I saved one example - would you like to see it?"

"No, I thank you," James replied in so revolted a tone that Elizabeth giggled again. Her laughter was cut off on a gasp as he rolled over on top of her. "I will never write you poetry, Elizabeth."

"Then I must endeavour to master my disappointment," she sighed. "Alas that I have married a man of actions and not a man of words."

As he kissed her, Elizabeth wriggled until she could bring her legs up and wrap them around his waist. "Speaking of actions, madam," James said, looking down at her with a grin, "yours are shamelessly provocative."

"And how do you mean to respond, sir?" was her pert reply.

"I would show you, save that it will make us rather late for breakfast."

Elizabeth pulled him down with a laugh. "Breakfast can wait."  
**********

The following months were happy ones for the Norringtons. Administering Fort and fleet kept James in Port Royal much of the time and his infrequent cruises were for the most part of short duration. Elizabeth took to married life with ease and great joy. James had built her a house on the hill near the Government House; a comfortable, commodious residence, quite without pretension. She spent considerable time in arranging the rooms to her satisfaction. The grounds were not extensive but included a lovely fall of ground behind the house, with wide view of the water far below. Together they undertook the layout and planning of the gardens and set the work in progress. Lawns, flower beds, hedges, a shrubbery walk and a gazebo - one by one the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

One morning, about six months after the wedding, James and Elizabeth were breakfasting on the small, shady terrace behind the house. The morning mail had arrived and they read as they drank their coffee.

"The Wilsons are giving a ball on the twentieth," Elizabeth remarked, "To launch Cecilia. We should attend."

"Mmmm, what?" James looked up from his letter, "Ah, yes of course." He sorted through the small pile of mail on the tray. "Here's a rather thick envelope for you, my dear." He handed it across the table. Elizabeth glanced at the return address and put it aside a little hastily.

"Oh," she said, carelessly, "Some pamphlets from my cousin, I believe. I will read them later." She took a sip of coffee and looked across the table to find her husband watching her with amusement.

"More nonsensical pirate romances, Elizabeth?" he asked, raising one eyebrow.

Her chin came up. "Yes, as a matter of fact," she replied. James grinned and she scowled at him. "Well and what if they are? You know how fascinating I find the subject and yet, when I ask you to tell me of _real_ pirates, you refuse."

"It is only that I would not disabuse you of your romantic notions, my dear," he said. "Pirates are in truth disgusting creatures. Cowardly, bloodthirsty brutes, who commit the most callous and barbarous acts with no thought of remorse. They are much more like Attila the Hun than Robin Hood; hardly a fit subject for fireside tales."

Elizabeth, who had no answer to this, looked mulish, buttered a piece of toast with great care and, just before she took a bite, stuck her tongue out at her husband. James burst out laughing.

"You haven't done that to me since you were thirteen years old," he said, shaking his head at her.

She grinned. "Oh yes, I have. You are forgetting the Admiral's reception, two years ago."

"Why, so I am, you minx," he exclaimed. "I don't know how I kept my countenance."

"It was a great disappointment to me that you managed to do so." Elizabeth sighed and shook her head. "It was a setback, I must admit. For a time, I despaired."

"Setback? Despaired?" James asked, chuckling at her sudden air of gentle melancholy. "What on Earth are you talking about?"

"Why, of my campaign," she replied, with lifted brows. "You must know that it has been my object these many years to detach you somewhat from your beloved propriety."

"Indeed?" He said dryly, and leant back in his chair. "And how do you find that you get on?"

"Very prosperously, for the most part, I thank you," Elizabeth laughed. "You are greatly improved by my efforts."

James said nothing for a few moments, toying with his coffee cup and staring out at the bay as his smile faded. He glanced at his wife. "Am I in truth so stuffy, then?" he asked.

"Oh my dear," Elizabeth cried, leaning across to cover his hand with hers, "by no means. I was jesting, merely." She rose and came round the table, perched on his knee and kissed his forehead. James's arms encircled her waist and she leaned against his shoulder. "No gentleman who holds his wife on his lap at the breakfast table is quite so rigidly proper as all that," she said and he chuckled.

They sat in silence for some time, watching the cloud shadows run across the bay and the hills far beyond.

"James," Elizabeth said at last, "I wish to learn to fence. Will you teach me?"

He turned to look at her with surprise. "You wish to do _what_?" he asked, "Where did this come from?"

"Oh, I have long wished it," she replied. "Our talk of pirates just now reminded me. I thought that, since you are of an _im_proper humour this morning," - she wriggled her hips against his thighs and grinned - "then you might be more likely to consent."

He smiled a little. "But, my dear," he asked, "_why_ do you wish to learn to fence?"

Elizabeth thought for a moment. "Because there is artistry to it; because it requires skill and not merely brute strength. It seems to combine elements of dance and of chess in one exercise." She shrugged. "Because it looks like fun."

"To do it well requires much work and practice, you know."

She sensed him weakening and held her breath. "I am not afraid of hard work."

James was silent for a full minute and her hope wavered, but then he laughed and hugged her to him. "Very well," he chuckled, "Since you are so determined to learn, I will teach you. There, is that improper enough for you?"

"Oh, yes, deliciously improper! I am very proud of you, husband," Elizabeth cried, kissing him with enthusiasm. "Thank you for indulging me."

James smiled at her excitement, albeit a touch ruefully. "It is difficult to refuse you anything, Elizabeth. I hope I may not come to regret this."

She laughed, "You'll not regret it, James, you will see. When may we begin?"

"Is this afternoon, after tea, soon enough for you?" he asked. "I am needed at the Fort until then."  
*********

Later that day, James dismounted in front of his house and handed the groom the reins. In the hall he removed his hat and wig, set them on the table, and scratched his head vigorously, to the well-concealed but perceptible amusement of the butler. James grinned at him. "Damnable things," he remarked, pointing to his abandoned wig. "But I needn't tell you that, eh Mullins?"

Mullins, his own wig impeccably in place, preserved his countenance, merely replying "I am sure I could not say, sir." But his blue eyes twinkled as he said it and James chuckled. "Madame has ordered tea to be served in the drawing room as soon as you arrived, Commodore."

"Is Mrs. Norrington down?" James asked.

"Not yet, sir."

"Then I shall wait for her," James nodded, "Thank you, Mullins."

"Very good, sir," Mullins bowed and effaced himself.

James was going through the afternoon post when he heard a step and looked up to see a most extraordinary figure descending the stairs.

"Elizabeth, what in Heaven's name are you wearing?" he exclaimed.

Elizabeth scampered (there was no other word for it, James thought) down the remaining flight and paused at the bottom, her face alight with laughter. She raised her arms and spun on one heel. "Well, how do you like it?" she asked, "Will it do?" She was wearing tan breeches, a full-sleeved linen shirt open at the throat and his second-best sword. Cotton stockings and low shoes completed the ensemble. "Well?" she asked again, clearly delighted to have astonished him.

James stared. Slim as she was, from the neck down she looked like a stripling. He found the sight oddly disturbing. "You can't mean to wear that!" he said at last.

"Of course I do," Elizabeth replied, "I cannot very well learn to fence in skirts, can I? It is not as if I shall be going out dressed this way."

"Going out! No, I should think not," James said.

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose at him. "Come and have tea," was all her reply. She led the way to the drawing room. . Despite his discomfort James grinned at the sight of her boyish swagger. Elizabeth, it seemed, had not left her fondness for play-acting quite behind in girlhood.

She rang for tea and they sat. He noted with amusement that she had been practicing; she neither tripped over nor sat upon her sword.

"Where did you get the breeches," James asked. "Or don't I want to know?"

Elizabeth laughed but Mullins entered at that moment with the tea tray and she waited until he had gone away again before answering. "Cook's grandson," she said, preparing his tea and passing him the cup, which he accepted with a word of thanks.

After a short silence, Elizabeth asked, "Where shall we practice? I thought perhaps the lawn at the bottom of the garden."

"That would do very well," James agreed. "It is screened from the house by the new hibiscus hedge. We shall be quite private there" He set down his teacup. "Well, if you will excuse me, my dear, I shall go change clothes and be with you directly."

A few minutes later they strolled down through the garden to the strip of turf that was to be their practice floor.

"Now then," James said, "let us begin with the position of the feet." The next two hours flew by, as he taught Elizabeth the basics of the art of fence. They practiced the correct stance for some time before he would let her draw her sword. "No, you must bend your knees more, for balance," he said, demonstrating what he meant, "and point your right foot. Back straight and head up." Elizabeth copied him attentively, repeating the move until she had mastered it, without demur or complaint.

James was a firm teacher - demanding perfection at each step of the process - while at the same time both patient and kind, explaining and demonstrating tirelessly. He taught Elizabeth as if she were a boy, making no concession to her sex; it seemed to him dishonest to do otherwise.

At last they drew their swords. James taught her the proper grip. They drilled until she could go from at rest to _en garde_ smoothly. He showed her how to extend her blade and recover, and they were beginning to work on displacements when he noticed her tiring and called a halt.

"That is enough for today," he said. They sheathed their swords and walked slowly up to the house, arm in arm. "You have made excellent progress, Elizabeth."

"Do you think so?" she replied, brushing her hair back from her damp brow. "It seems that we did so little."

"As with any skill, the first steps in fencing are deceptively simple," he smiled, "but they are the foundation for all that follows. Without mastering them, there can be no true proficiency."

She nodded. "That makes sense. When shall we have our next lesson?"

James laughed. "If I said next week…?"

"I would call you a teasing, provoking, _wicked_ man," she retorted. "How about tomorrow?"

"No, for tomorrow I have business in Kingston, and we dine with the Groves's, if you recall," James replied. "Do you think you can wait until the day after?"

Elizabeth sighed. "If I must, I must," she said, "I shall endeavour to be patient."

They had by this time reached the house. And Elizabeth was about to go upstairs to change when James told her that he had ordered the bath to be prepared for her. "It will refresh you after your exertions," he said.

She kissed him with a smile. "What a considerate husband, I have," she said. Her smile became mischievous. She stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. "Come up and keep me company."

"You rogue," he chuckled, but he allowed her to lead him up to their room, where they dismissed the maid. James began to undress her, fumbling with the buttons on her breeches. For a moment he was reminded of his discomfort at his first sight of Elizabeth in boy's clothes, but he was distracted by her nimble fingers at his waist.

"Clumsy," she mocked him, grinning. "_This_ is how it's done." In a flash she had undone his breeches and was pushing them down to his ankles. "You need a bath as much as I," she said, "There is room for us both."

The undressing became a race - with much laughter and at least one muffled shriek. Before long they were both quite naked, their clothes scattered about the floor. "Into the tub with you," she said, giving him a little push.

It was a tight squeeze, but they had done this before and settled into the warm water facing each other, she sitting between his legs with hers wrapped round his waist. "Isn't this cozy," Elizabeth said, leaning forward to kiss him.

James reached for the soap and a cloth from the stool next to the tub and began to wash Elizabeth's shoulders. She tipped her head back and sighed as he reached her breasts. Her hands, meanwhile, had left his waist and disappeared beneath the water. "_Elizabeth_, he groaned.

One thing led to another and they were very late to supper.  
**********

In the weeks that followed, Elizabeth's skill with the smallsword grew by leaps and bounds. It was, of course, wildly unconventional, but James admired both her will and her aptitude. He made no secret of his pride in her.

He had grown accustomed to the sight of Elizabeth in breeches. Indeed he was forced to admit that seeing her thus was distinctly arousing, and many of their training sessions ended in bed.

One afternoon, as they were sparring on the lawn, James realized that, while Elizabeth would never equal him in strength or endurance, she was a very good fencer; as fast as he was, if not faster.

The day was warm and they were both winded and sweating heavily when at last they broke off. Elizabeth tossed aside her mask and removed her quilted jacket before throwing herself flat on the grass. She lay there panting while James detached the buttons from their swords, then sat up and poured them cups of lemonade from the jug they had brought from the house.

They drank in silence; Elizabeth lay back again to watch the fair-weather clouds drift across the sky. After a time she laced her fingers with James's. He glanced down at her and smiled. "What are you thinking of?" she asked.

"That I shall miss this when I sail," he said.

Elizabeth's brow clouded. "I, too," she replied. "Will you be gone long, do you think?"

"Difficult to say," James shrugged, "That depends to a large extent on what we find. Our quarry is elusive."

"Is it pirates this time," Elizabeth asked, "or smugglers?"

"Either or both," he replied. "Or, the Spanish of course, but they have given us little difficulty of late. I intend to patrol the Windward Passage for a time to see what falls into our hands."

"And must you sail tomorrow?"

"I must."

Another silence fell. Elizabeth tugged on the hand she held and raised her other arm in invitation. Grinning, James rolled to lie half atop her. Between kisses she murmured, "You need a bath."

"So do you," he chuckled.

She giggled "You are rude, sir." Hooking her ankle behind his thighs, she drew him closer. "But I forgive you."

"See here, you temptress," James said, "Enough of this tumbling about on the grass." He got to his feet, drawing her up with him. "Come into the house."

She rolled her eyes as they gathered their equipment. "Propriety," she sighed.

"Comfort," he replied, grinning again. He lowered his voice. "I want you naked in the bath and then under me in our bed." He kissed the back of her neck and she shivered. His voice dropped further. "You will be grateful for the softness of the mattress, before I am done with you," he growled.

Wide-eyed, she nodded. "I'm yours," she breathed, and led the way up to the house.

Much later, as they lay - sweaty once again - half asleep with legs entwined, Elizabeth stirred. She stroked James's cheek and he turned his head to kiss her fingers. In a shaking voice she began to whisper. James caught a few phrases. "To have and to hold… in sickness and in health… as long as we both shall live." She ended on a tiny sob.

"Elizabeth, beloved," James gathered her close, kissing her hair as she clung to him. "I will be back before you know it."

"Oh James, come home safe to me."

"Always, dearest, for am I not yours?"


	5. Somewhere at sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of Will and Barbossa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: E. Warning for explicit non-con.

Will groaned as Barbossa entered him and clenched his jaw. This time he would not beg.

The hated voice was in his ear, goading him. "You're no match for me," Barbossa gloated. "You know what I want, and we both know you'll give it to me," he said. "So take your time while I take my pleasure, because in the end you will say it."

"No," Will gasped, even as Barbossa changed the angle of his thrusts and fucked him harder. He whimpered as his resistance crumbled; he knew then with despair that he would break again, as he always did.

Barbossa reached beneath him and took hold of his balls, squeezing and twisting cunningly. Will bit his own arm to keep from screaming as the pleasure and pain crawled along his nerves. "Say it, boy," Barbossa grunted, "_Say it._

"I'm yours," Will cried in a rush, "I'm yours. _Please_ for the love of God."

"Music to my ears," Barbossa chuckled. He shifted his grip and stroked Will's cock roughly. "And here's your reward."

Will bucked and spent himself with a moan, shuddering as Barbossa thrust hard once more and collapsed against his back.

Barbossa rolled off him and Will made to climb out of the bunk. "Where do you think you're going?" Barbossa rasped.

"To my bed," Will replied, trying not to flinch as a rough hand grasped his hip.

"Stay where you are," Barbossa snapped, "I want you under my hand this night."

Will hated most the nights when Barbossa kept him close. The bunk was large but Barbossa liked to sleep half on top of him, holding him down. Will would lie awake for hours, dreading the moment when his tormentor would awaken to take him again.

He thought back, eighteen months, to the start of this nightmare. He saw again the pretty serving girl weltering in blood, dead by her own hand, and he envied her. She had found peace. What did he lack, that he could not put a similar end to his own sufferings? Perhaps Barbossa was right to taunt him with weakness and soft-heartedness.

Or - the idea whispered itself in his ear, furtive and tempting - he might kill Barbossa and so gain his freedom that way. He shuddered and Barbossa grunted in his sleep and threw his leg over Will's thighs. Will lay still, trying to imagine stabbing, slashing, _throttling_. But the habit of submission to _the Captain_, so carefully fostered by Barbossa for nearly half his lifetime, defeated even his imagination. He _knew_, how he could not say, that he would not survive such an attempt, and that the manner of his dying would make his present existence seem like a Paradise.

But oh, how he had learnt to hate Barbossa! He remembered one conversation with painful clarity. When it had become clear that the rape in the tavern was not to be the end of it, that Barbossa intended to continue to use his body, he had gathered his courage to ask, "Why do you do this? Why not have me flogged for striking you and be done with it?"

Barbossa had laughed at him. "Because I enjoy the way you fight me too much to stop," he leered. "The sight of you, panting and sweating under me, is irresistible."

"But, you were my father's friend."

"What if I told you he was my whore, just as you are?"

Will winced at the word 'whore' and raised his chin, glaring. "I wouldn't believe you."

"And you'd be right, bumboy, because your father was a man."

There had been no answer he could make to that and so he had fallen into a sullen silence that had lasted for months, save for when he was made to cry out under the relentless assault of Barbossa's body upon his. Or when he fought; roaring and laying about him with a blind and ever-increasing ferocity. He found his only relief in battle, when he could grant the rage that consumed him free rein and lose himself in an ecstasy of killing. He would come to himself, blood-spattered from head to foot and surrounded by the dead. His mates looked at him with fearful awe and gave him a wide berth. The Spanish, he knew, had begun to call him El Diablo Inglés.

His stomach churned at the thought of what he had become. A despair too complete for expression blanked his mind and he slept at last.


	6. The Windward Passage, aboard the 24-gun brig Lazarus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Jack Sparrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: G.

"My apologies for the inconvenience we have caused you, Captain. I trust you understand that with times as they are, it is necessary to stop and inspect all vessels."

"Not at all, not at all, Lieutenant… Witherspoon, is it? I perfectly understand. In fact, I was rather hoping we'd encounter some of you Navy chaps before too long. Please tell your Commodore I shall come across to present my bona fides directly. Will you have a glass of wine before you go? No? Ah well, some other time perhaps. Gibbs, see the Lieutenant to his boat."

Gibbs returned to the quarterdeck to find the Captain peering through his glass at the huge warship hove to a cable's length to windward. "Well, old friend, what do you think?" the Captain asked him, grinning.

"That you're daft, Jack," Gibbs replied, shaking his head. "I hope this plan o' yourn works. It did give me a turn, having that young Navy sprat going over the _Lazarus_ the way he did."

The Captain laughed. "Not losing your nerve, are you, Josh?" He clapped his grizzled quartermaster on the shoulder. "You'll see. All will be well. Now then, lower the boat. I must go pay a courtesy call on yonder Commodore." He took a folded parchment from the breast of his coat and tapped it against his knuckles. "Time to see if this is worth what I paid for it, eh?"  
************

"Captain Sparrow to see you, sir."

The Commodore frowned irritably. This Sparrow was a privateer, and a damned well-armed one, according to Witherspoon's report. He disliked privateers on principle - most of them were merely pirates in disguise. Best to get it over with, he thought. Norrington glanced at the midshipman waiting in the doorway and nodded. "Show him in."

When Sparrow was announced, Norrington rose and surveyed his visitor. He saw a trim figure, not above average height, neatly dressed in a plain dark-green coat of excellent cut, buff breeches and boots. An unusual face, golden-skinned, with high cheekbones and sharp features, was set off by a small goatee and mustaches; his dark hair was drawn back in a queue tied with a red riband. Gold glinted in the lobes of his ears.

Norrington nodded. "Captain Sparrow," he said.

Sparrow swept off his hat and made a rather elegant leg. "Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service, Commodore," he replied, smiling broadly. Half the man's teeth were gold.

"Please, be seated." Norrington waved him to a chair and resumed his own. Sparrow sat and crossed his legs, balancing his hat on his knee, and leaned back, quite at his ease. Norrington saw, with faint disgust, that his dark eyes were ringed with kohl.

"So, Captain Sparrow," he said, folding his hands before him on the desk, "Lieutenant Witherspoon tells me that you are a privateer, come to hunt pirates in the Caribbean."

"I am," Sparrow replied, grinning. "Can't let you Navy men have all the fun, eh?"

Norrington's lips thinned. "You have authorization, I presume?"

"To be sure, I do," Sparrow replied, reaching into his coat. "My letters of marque, signed by His Excellency the Governor of Bermuda." He handed the document to Norrington, who examined it carefully. All appeared to be in order; signed, countersigned and with all seals affixed in their proper places. He sighed and handed it back.

"You've been a privateer before, Captain?"

"Not strictly speaking, no. I've been out East for some years, where such matters are arranged somewhat differently."

"I see," Norrington said. "In that case, allow me to mention some points that I wish you to keep in mind. Your letters of marque authorize you to hunt pirates, and, by extension, smugglers; in this pursuit you are a free agent, under no command but your own." Sparrow grinned and Norrington held up his hand. "As you are independent, you may expect no help from the British Navy in your endeavours. If you find that you have over-reached yourself, you must suffer the consequences unaided. You understand me, Captain Sparrow?"

"I do, Commodore Norrington."

"Furthermore," Norrington continued, "And I cannot stress this strongly enough - your authorization does not entitle you to hinder Naval operations or interfere with them in any way. The Navy is the upholder of the law in the Caribbean and as such takes precedence under all conditions. I trust I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly clear, Commodore," Sparrow nodded, looking amused.

"Very well then," Norrington said. "I wish you luck in your enterprise. If I may ask, what are your immediate plans?"

"You may ask," Sparrow smiled. "And, what's more, I will answer." He chuckled at the annoyance on Norrington's face. "Port Royal is my destination; I shall re-supply and attend to some minor repairs before beginning my cruise. If you would be so good as to provide me with a harbour pass I would be much obliged."

Norrington picked up his pen and wrote quickly. Sanding the paper, he passed it to Sparrow, who read it before tucking it into his breast pocket with a nod of thanks.

Norrington rose. "Now, if that is all Captain Sparrow, I shall bid you good day. You are no doubt anxious to continue your voyage." He held out his hand.

Standing, Sparrow took the proffered hand. "It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Commodore. I look forward to many such meetings in future. Good day to you, sir." He swept another bow and left with a smile.

Commodore Norrington stared after him for a moment. Good heavens but he was an impertinent dog. Time would tell if he was all swagger and no substance, but Norrington had a feeling that this would not be the last he would hear of Captain Jack Sparrow.


	7. Tortuga, six weeks later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tortuga was abuzz with the news. Jack Sparrow was back!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: T

Tortuga was abuzz with the news. Jack Sparrow was back! The story went round that his brig, the _Lazarus_, had been seen in Port Royal, bold as brass, anchored amongst the Navy ships, free to come as go as she pleased. There were whispers that he had gone over to the other side and that he carried letters of marque, but old hands shook their heads at this. "Gibbs is still with him," they said, "and you know Gibbs wouldn't stand for shite like that. No, it's just Jack up to his old tricks, you'll see." Guesses were made and wagers laid. Low-voiced arguments would break off whenever Barbossa or one of the Pearls came near enough to overhear.

Barbossa received the news with glee. He gloated over his foresight in having confined Will to the ship, thereby cutting the boy off from the gossip. He had himself rowed out to the _Pearl_.

Will looked up from his book as Barbossa entered. An early return from Tortuga meant trouble, he was sure. If Barbossa hadn't had time to visit a whorehouse, Will knew he'd be in for a bad night.

The Captain tossed his hat aside and sat, putting his feet up on the table. "Wine, boy," he said, "And pour some for yourself, as well. It's great news I've brought ye."

Will poured the wine, served the other man, took his glass back to his chair and waited. Barbossa drank and smiled, humming to himself and staring into the distance. At last he looked at Will and chuckled.

"And do you not wish to know my news?" he asked genially. Will nodded without speaking, wary of Barbossa's air of febrile excitement. Terrifying explosions of temper were all too often heralded by just such a mood and Will had no wish to ignite the powder through incaution.

Barbossa laughed and poured himself more wine. "Why it's just this: Captain Jack Sparrow is back in the Caribbean, in command of a tidy brig, the _Lazarus_. What do you say to that, boy?"

At the mention of Sparrow's name Will nearly dropped his glass. He set it on the table and leaned forward, eyes blazing. "He is here?"

Barbossa nodded. "He is." He laughed again, a high-pitched cackle. "They said he was dead, but I knew better. I knew all along that the bastard would be back, and here he is. The _Lazarus_! How fitting!"

Will leapt to his feet. "_Here_? Here in Tortuga?" He reached for his sword.

"Sit, sit," Barbossa said, waving him back. "Not in Tortuga. They say he was last seen in Port Royal."

"Then we must find him!" Will exclaimed, his face dark with rage. "I have sworn to kill him."

"And so you shall, my boy," Barbossa nodded. "So you shall. And when you do, I shall give you the _Lazarus_ for your own." He poured still more wine and drained the glass. "Sparrow has returned to find me, but the hunter is about to become the hunted. I have a surprise for Captain Jack Sparrow," he said, smiling at Will. "You."

He stood and came to stand behind Will's chair, tangling his fingers in Will's long hair. "You," Barbossa said again, wrenching Will's head back and biting his mouth, "are my secret weapon."


	8. Grenada, several weeks later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack up to his tricks, driving Norrington crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: E.

The _Dauntless_ lay at anchor in Westerhall Bay, Grenada. The Marines had just completed destruction of a smuggler's base camp there, from which a gang had long been terrorizing the sugar planters of St. David's. Commodore Norrington had spent a busy morning arranging for prize crews to sail the two captured sloops back to Port Royal, taking the report of the landing party and transferring the prisoners to the brigs on the _Forester_ and the _Lord Weldon_, preparatory to his own departure. He was not entirely satisfied with the operation just concluded, as Major Thacker reported that a great many of the smugglers had escaped inland and would doubtless rebuild their camp elsewhere. Still, he thought, he must take comfort in the fact that he had damaged them rather badly: 10 prisoner, 15 killed and two sloops taken - and all this with the loss of just two of his own men.

He was on deck discussing the water supply with Captain Marshall when the cry of 'Sail ho!' made him look up to see the _Lazarus_ sailing into the bay. Norrington's mouth tightened. How had Sparrow known where to find them? His natural distrust of privateers - especially of ones so provokingly vague about their antecedents - made him wonder where this one got his information. He resumed his conversation with Marshall while keeping one eye on the _Lazarus_. He was grimly amused when Sparrow chose to anchor fully three cable's lengths to the seaward of the Navy ships. Always one to keep his options open, Norrington thought, with an inward chuckle. His several meetings with Sparrow over the past weeks - in Port Royal and at sea - had been… interesting. Sparrow took unabashed delight in snapping his fingers under the nose of authority, as it were; treading ever the thin line between mockery and insult. And yet, when they had dined together once (Sparrow having invited himself to share Norrington's dinner in the most brazen manner imaginable) he had proven to be an amusing companion, witty - in a slightly infuriating way - and well-read. The man was an enigma.

Presently a boat came skimming over the smooth waters of the bay, making for the _Dauntless_. Affecting not to notice, Norrington dismissed Captain Marshall and went below, saying he had reports to finish before the prizes sailed that evening.

A quarter of an hour later a midshipman knocked and announced, "Captain Sparrow of the _Lazarus_ to see you, sir," and, at his nod, ushered his visitor in and withdrew, closing the door behind him.

"Captain Sparrow." Norrington waved him to a seat.

"Commodore," Sparrow bowed, sweeping his hat off with an air. He seated himself, crossing one leg over the other and placing his hat upon a corner of the desk. "Your raid here appears to have been successful." He leaned back, his preposterous gold teeth flashing.

Norrington nodded. "To a degree," he replied, stung by what he took to be mockery, but refusing to rise to the bait. "And you?" he continued, attacking in his turn. "How has the _Lazarus_ fared since we saw you last - how long ago? It must be a month since your last report." Such independence grated upon him - how was he to put any reliance upon someone so completely out of his control?

"One month and five days, to be precise, since last I saw Port Royal," Sparrow sighed, looking down at his clasped hands, "and in all that time, not a single pirate ship worthy of the name has crossed our path. Oh, one or two tiny coasting vessels were spotted - smugglers, no doubt - but they made off in haste and declined to engage us." A delicate shrug. "It was a sad disappointment." He glanced up and the mischief in his eyes belied the dejection of his tone. "One stroke of good fortune, however, was vouchsafed us." He paused expectantly.

Damn his playacting, Norrington thought, this is ridiculous. Aloud he said, with heavy sarcasm, "Oh, really? And what, pray tell, was that?"

"We took a Spaniard - a lovely little frigate, the _Paloma_ \- just off Trinidad. She carries 22 guns, but, due to a _fortuitous_ confusion concerning flags, we were allowed to approach to grappling distance without a single shot fired. In all, a remarkably clever maneuver, if I may say so." Sparrow laughed softly. "Why the lowering look, sir? Are we not at war with Spain? All's fair, remember."

"It's a pirate's trick," Norrington growled.

"It is indeed," Sparrow replied, smiling to himself and examining his fingernails. "I make it a practice never to disdain a good idea on the grounds of its origin. Pirates are often successful and their tactics are worth studying, I think."

Norrington shook his head. "You will suit yourself in that regard, of course. What did the _Paloma_ carry - anything of interest?"

"A great many things, Commodore, as you will see. Among them, wine. A half-dozen pipes of Mountain-Malaga and a round dozen of some remarkably fine Xeres - a rare dry Oloroso - as well." Sparrow said. "Which puts me in mind of something," he went on, "Would you do me the honour of dining with me aboard the _Lazarus_? We shall sample them." He smiled, for once without a trace of mockery in his expression, and Norrington found himself disarmed.

"It would be a pleasure, Captain Sparrow," he replied, surprised to find that he almost meant it.

"The pleasure is mine," Sparrow bowed. "It will give me the opportunity to show you another treasure acquired from the _Paloma_ \- a small but rather fine library, that was en route to the Governor of Cartagena. Somewhat biased toward the Spaniards, of course - have you read Lope de Vega's sonnets? - but with a good selection of the classics."

"I look forward to it," Norrington said, thinking, he refers to a library as a 'treasure'? The man was full of surprises. "Tell me," he continued aloud, "how did you dispose of the _Paloma_? You describe her as a tidy vessel."

Sparrow grinned. "I confess I had hoped you might take an interest in her. She is for sale, if the Navy is looking for such a thing as a small and well-armed frigate. I sent her with a prize crew to Port Royal."

"I might have known," Norrington gave a mirthless laugh. "And the crew?"

"Packed them into their boats and kissed my hand to them." Sparrow shrugged. "We were in sight of land; they should have had no trouble reaching it." He rose. "I must return to the _Lazarus_. I shall look for you in, shall we say, two hours time?" Bowing, he picked up his hat and walked to the door, where he turned with a smile. "Oh, and Commodore, if you would be so obliging as to bring with you whichever of your officers is most proficient in the Spanish tongue, I shall have something of particular interest to show him, and you." And with that he slipped out of the cabin.

Torn between amusement and exasperation, Norrington sat for some few minutes, wondering what surprise Sparrow had in store for them. Something taken, no doubt, from the _Paloma_, but what? The request for a translator (for so he took it to be) argued for a prisoner, but if he was holding a prisoner for ransom, would he be likely to tell the Navy? Norrington thought not. And, if there were no ransom value, why not turn the captive over to the Navy at once? Well, he would know soon enough. He called for the sentry and asked that Lieutenant Flemming be sent to him.  
***********

Two hours later, accompanied by Flemming, he set foot aboard the _Lazarus_ for the first time. He noted that the ship, while not up to Navy standards, of course, was well-kept and the crew likewise were more presentable than he had expected. Sparrow introduced them to his officers - a tough and competent-looking group, including of all things, a woman, and a man he recognized as a Naval deserter from nearly 10 years before, - and then took his guests below to his cabin.

"And now, gentlemen, you will permit me to show you what may be the most valuable of the objects yielded up by the _Paloma_." So saying, he led them to his desk, upon which reposed a brass-bound casket of some dark wood, bearing about the shattered lock the remains of what appeared to be an official seal.

Flemming gasped. "Why, sir! That's a…"

"Quite so," Norrington cut him off. Glancing at Sparrow, he said, "May I?"

"But of course," Sparrow grinned, "It is yours."

Norrington opened the casket to find it nearly full with papers. A quick examination showed him that they consisted of letters and official documents, as well as a small bound book, two ledgers and several maps folded small. "Spanish," he said. "So, the _Paloma_ was an official courier."

"So it appears," Sparrow replied. "Although a remarkably careless one, methinks."

"Indeed," Norrington nodded. He riffled through the contents of the casket once more. "They are all unsealed," he observed, glancing sharply at the privateer.

Sparrow shrugged. "Curiosity, my dear Commodore, is a failing to which I must own."

"Did you remove anything?"

Sir, you wound me." Sparrow placed his hand over his heart. "My first thought was to preserve this trove for you." He paused, then added blandly, "Especially since your name occurs so frequently in it."

Norrington's smile was grim. "Does it? Cast in no very flattering light, I daresay."

"Indeed no," Sparrow chuckled. "You are, in the eyes of the Spanish government, the author of any number of calamities that have befallen His Most Catholic Majesty's colonies of late."

"Gratifying," Norrington replied. "It is to be hoped that this will enable us to do more in the same line." He stepped aside with a gesture to Flemming, who fairly pounced upon the casket in his eagerness to begin reading. "With your permission, Captain Sparrow, I would transfer all of this to the _Dauntless_, to allow Lieutenant Flemming more ease in his labors."

"By all means," Sparrow bowed. "I had hoped that you would do so. Let him take your boat back immediately. It would be an honour for the _Lazarus's_ boat to return you to your ship after you have dined."

After they had seen the ecstatic Flemming on his way, clutching the precious casket and seated in the stern of the boat from the _Dauntless_, Sparrow and Norrington returned to the cabin. Going to the cellaret, Sparrow took out a decanter of amber liquid.

"Some Xeres, Commodore?" he asked, pouring two glasses without waiting for an answer.

Norrington accepted his glass with a nod of thanks and raised it. "To your health, Captain," he said, and drank. His brows rose. "I am far from expert in sherries, but this is an excellent wine."

"It is," Sparrow agreed. "Well above the common run. I daresay it was intended for a more exalted table than mine, but such are the fortunes of war, eh?"

They sipped in appreciative silence for a moment, then Sparrow said with a smile, "Now, let me show you the Governor of Cartagena's strayed library."

The books, still in their four lead-lined chests, proved to be a delight. Bound for the most part in exquisitely tooled calf, there were collections of plays in Spanish and English, works of many of the chief Spanish poets, a selection of the writings of Virgil, Plato, Sophocles, Euripides and Thucydides, a complete set of Shakespeare (the Inquisition did not reach as far as Cartagena, it seemed), as well as Cervantes and even Defoe. One by one they removed all the books, glancing into each, exclaiming occasionally over a particular find, pausing to read favorite passages - sometimes aloud. Before they had quite finished unpacking and commenting on the fourth chest, two hours had flown by, the level of Xeres in the decanter had diminished considerably, and the cook and his helpers were laying dinner upon the table.

As they ate - Norrington was astonished at the quality of the food set before him, someone on this vessel knew how to cook - they continued a debate begun earlier. Sparrow - in jest, one hoped - had asserted that Bacon had written _Don Quixote_ and Norrington was incapable of letting such a crack-brained notion go unchallenged.

"Yes, yes, I am perfectly aware of the theory that Bacon wrote the plays of Shakespeare. Absolute bollocks, of course, but never mind that. Do you mean to tell me that there are those - and, surely, you are not, _cannot_ be amongst them! - who would expand this nonsensical belief in his pervasive influence even to Spanish literature? Why, it is absurd." He drained his glass and Sparrow, ever the attentive host, refilled it yet again. They had switched to the Mountain-Malaga when they sat down and Norrington found it very much to his taste.

"Let us say that I am undecided about _Don Quixote_," Sparrow smiled, "but, you must admit that there is considerable evidence to support the idea that Bacon and Shakespeare were the same man."

"I must admit nothing of the sort!" Norrington straightened indignantly. "Pure lunatical, logic-chopping nonsense, from start to finish. Give me one - just one - example of irrefutable proof."

"Very well," Sparrow replied, chuckling at his guest's vehemence. "In _Love's Labour's Lost_, there is the word 'honorificabilitudinitatibus'…"

Norrington snorted. "Don't, I pray you, ply me with cryptograms! I set no store by that argument the first time I heard it and you may be assured that my opinion has not changed with time. Why, it's…"

"May I help you to a little more ham, Commodore?" Sparrow interrupted, picking up the carving knife.

"Jack, you are trying to distract me," Norrington accused, arrested in mid-tirade.

Sparrow nodded, grinning. "James, I am," he said.

"Why?"

"Well," replied Sparrow imperturbably, carving the ham and serving them both, "if you must know, I had rather run out of arguments, having taken that position on a whim - in a spirit of devil's advocacy, you might say."

Norrington blinked. There was silence for several moments. Then he burst out laughing. "Sparrow," he cried, "you are an unprincipled rascal."

"At last we begin to understand each other," was the slightly ironic reply.

Intent upon his own thought, Norrington did not take in the sense of the comment, but continued, somewhat unguardedly, "Still, I am pleased to find that my faith was not misplaced - that you did not believe what you were saying, after all."

Sparrow laughed, a little shortly. "Upon what do you base this faith, sir?"

Norrington blinked again. "Why," he said, after the slightest pause, "merely that you are, it appears," (he gestured to the books,) "a man of some learning and such twaddle as the Bacon theory is for the ignorant and credulous."

"You honour me above my deserts," Sparrow replied, with a grin.

Nettled, Norrington picked up his fork and applied himself to the ham. "Perhaps I do," was all he said. He could not tell if he was more vexed with himself or the privateer.

After a short silence, Sparrow looked up from his plate. "Commodore, there is a good deal of information in that casket. It would be the work of many days for a single man to translate it all."

Norrington nodded, grateful for the change of subject. "That is true. Lieutenant Flemming is very competent, but I do not intend to leave him to labour over this task alone. The faster we glean what those documents have to offer the sooner I can put it to use. Tomorrow, I shall work with him. My Spanish is not the equal of his, but still sufficient, I believe."

"I have some fluency," Sparrow said. "If you will allow it, I would be happy to offer my services."

Surprised and instinctively suspicious, Norrington almost refused, but caught himself. Sparrow had seen all the documents already - it was not as if the casket contained any secrets. He nodded. "Thank you, I accept."

Sparrow raised his glass with a smile and Norrington smiled back.

They spoke for some time of inconsequential things - easy and companionable - lingering over their wine as the sun began to sink toward the Grenadian hills. It poured through the stern windows and spilled across the table; striking sparks from glasses and silverware - sending little dazzles glinting about the cabin. The very dust motes in the air were turned to gold. Norrington, gazing past Sparrow and out across the bay, lost the thread of what he was saying and fell silent. The sun touched the hilltops; the light began to dim.

Sparrow rose and came round the table. Norrington tipped his head to look up at the man standing before him, but the blaze of light behind Sparrow reduced him to a silhouette. The sunset calm, the conversation, the good dinner and, above all, the splendid wine had combined to put Norrington at peace with the world. He smiled and murmured, "Well, Jack, what is it?"

Sparrow bent until their faces were on a level, placing his hands one on either arm of Norrington's chair. In so doing his shadow fell across Norrington, who, in the sudden dusk, thought he caught a golden gleam as Sparrow smiled.

With dream-like slowness, Sparrow leaned closer and tilted his head. "This," he whispered, as their lips met.

Astonishment held James immobile as Jack's mouth moved across his. He gasped as the tip of a clever tongue slipped between his lips and retreated, leaving a taste of wine and spices. Then the touch was gone and his eyes, which had closed, sprang open. Sparrow, his back to the cabin, was lighting the candles on the sideboard and saying over his shoulder, "I shall have a pipe of the Mountain-Malaga sent across to the _Dauntless_ in the morning. And some of the Xeres as well, if you wish it."

Norrington collected his scattered wits and cleared his throat. "Thank you, Captain Sparrow. That is most generous of you."

As the branched candlesticks were set upon the table, muting the now-faded sunset glow from without, Norrington fidgeted with his glass and tried to think of something unexceptionable to say. Sparrow's voice penetrated his abstraction.

"Commodore?" it said, and Norrington got the impression that it was not the first time Sparrow had spoken. He looked up. Sparrow was holding the decanter, his expression one of polite inquiry. "Will you have another glass?"

"Ah. Ah, yes, if you please," James replied, speaking perhaps a bit too quickly. "But it must be the last, I fear. It grows late and I must complete some reports yet this evening."

"Of course," Sparrow agreed, pouring the wine. "And tomorrow will be a busy day." James could detect no trace of the expected mockery in the man's tone or expression and his own confusion deepened.

They drank in silence. Norrington set down his glass and rose. "Thank you for an excellent dinner and a most enjoyable evening, Captain Sparrow."

Sparrow bowed with a smile and they went out on deck. As they waited without speaking for the boat to be lowered, Norrington stood, hands folded behind his back, watching the moon rise over the bowsprit. He was acutely aware of the man standing at his side but dared not turn his head to look at him. At last the boat was ready and Sparrow walked with him to the rail.

"Until tomorrow, Commodore," he said.

James nodded and went down the side. He took his seat in the stern and the oarsmen pulled away smartly. He did not look back.  
****************

Next morning early, Jack sent the promised wine to the _Dauntless_ with a message that he would follow at midday. He spent the morning shelving books and plotting his next moves. He thought of the night before and grinned. The kiss had not been planned - he'd intended to wait a bit longer before making a gesture so unequivocal. But the sight of James - dreaming in the golden sunset, his eyes gone emerald - had been too much for flesh and blood to resist. Jack paused to savour the memory once again.

James's discomposure afterward had told him a great deal. It appeared that the so-proper Commodore - happily married to the Governor's daughter, Jack knew - had not considered the possibility that he might be susceptible to his own sex. And susceptible he was; Jack was sure of it. He grinned again. This would be a most amusing chase.

He considered. It would take them the better part of three days to go over and translate even the most useful of the documents in that casket. At the end of that time, Norrington would undoubtedly sail off about his business, in which Jack could have, as a privateer, only the most peripheral role. Nor did he wish a greater role in Naval doings, to be sure. He had his own business to attend to and this hoped-for dalliance would not distract him, any more than it would distract Norrington. Three days, then. Not an abundance of time, considering how careful and circumspect must be his wooing (he chuckled to himself), but he was confident of success.

Jack picked up his hat and strode on deck, calling for the boat to take him to the _Dauntless_.  
***********

James Norrington paced his quarterdeck, thinking - or, rather, attempting to think. His office was occupied by Lieutenant Flemming, who, at his order, was working to put the Spanish documents into some sort of logical sequence before the task of translation began and so he had sought the open air. So far, the sunshine and fresh breeze had done nothing to dispel the confusion of his thoughts. What had happened last night? While he had imbibed considerably more wine than was his habit, he had been by no means drunk; the bare facts were clear enough in his mind as to admit of no doubt. To wit: He had spent a pleasant (yes, he told himself defiantly, _pleasant_) afternoon with Jack Sparrow, inspecting a collection of books and dining. So far, so good. And then Sparrow had kissed him. Kissed. Him. James barely stopped himself from raising his hand to his mouth, where - he swore - he could still feel the press of firm lips against his own. Very well, Sparrow had kissed him. And he had… what? Allowed it, certainly. Enjoyed it? Here his mind balked and he scowled. If he was not in the habit of lying to himself, neither was he prepared to admit the inadmissible; he resolved therefore to think no more about it. Jack Sparrow's _proclivities_ need not concern him. Surely, when Sparrow saw that his attentions were unwelcome, he would not repeat them and that would be that. Norrington stopped his pacing and stared for a moment down the bay at the _Lazarus_. "Yes," he said to himself. "Well, then, that's settled." He nodded, turned on his heel and went below to check on Flemming's progress.

When Jack was ushered into his office a short time later, James stood to greet him with a somewhat strained smile. Sparrow bowed. "Good day, gentlemen," he said.

"Ah, Captain Sparrow. In a good hour; Lieutenant Flemming has imposed order," - Norrington gestured to the desk, covered with neat stacks of documents, each held by an improvised paperweight - "and we are about to begin annotating."

Jack smiled as he took the proffered chair. "I see you have been busy Lieutenant. Now then, Commodore, how do you wish to proceed?"

"I think it will be best if we simply read and annotate in the margins or on the cover," Norrington replied, "and perform a full translation only if a particular item warrants it. Here are pens and ink."

Sparrow nodded. "Very efficient," he approved. "What about the half-dozen in cipher?"

"Those I have given to Flemming here - he is our expert in such things," Norrington said. The lieutenant made a depreciating gesture and flushed. "He believes it to be a book code," James continued. "In which case the book found in the chest is likely to be the key." His lips quirked. "It is the first volume of _Don Quixote_," he added. Jack laughed.

Jack tossed his hat onto the sideboard and pulled his chair up to the desk. "Where shall I start?" he asked. James handed him a pile of correspondence from the Governor of Trinidad. As Jack took it from him their hands touched for a moment. James jumped as Jack's fingers stroked the back of his knuckles before taking the papers. He looked up to catch a gleam of amusement swiftly hidden under kohl-smudged lids. Norrington frowned and cleared his throat.

"Yes," he said, "Well, then." He sat, picked up his own work and, to all appearances, became engrossed immediately. Jack hid a grin.

They worked for some time in silence, broken now and then by comments or questions, by the rustle of papers and the scratch of quills. The cabin was not large and they were rather crowded around the desk, Jack's chair being set very close to James's. Jack, in stretching out his leg to ease a crick in his knee, brushed his calf against James's and felt it jump and pull away. Jack looked sidelong at James and saw him shift nervously in his chair. There was a very faint flush along his cheekbone.

A light snack of cold meat, bread and wine was brought them halfway through the afternoon. They ate quickly - comparing notes on what they had learned - and returned to work. Jack contrived to brush against James's back as he moved from table to desk and was rewarded with a frown. He grinned.

Shortly thereafter, Flemming cracked the book code and began deciphering the coded messages. This heartening development gave them all new energy and they continued work for another two hours before Norrington declared that they had done enough for one day and invited the others to join him for dinner.

Over the meal, they discussed the information they were uncovering and its possible ramifications. Norrington thought Sparrow remarkably well-versed in the political situation in the Caribbean for someone who claimed to have been "out East for some years," but he did not comment. Previous attempts to elicit information from the privateer had come to nothing and had so obviously amused the man that he hesitated to try again, particularly with the Lieutenant there to see.

Sparrow was telling a diverting tale of his conversation with the Captain of the _Paloma_, sipping his wine at intervals. James, caught up in the narrative, found himself staring at Sparrow's mouth as it caressed the rim of the glass, and he swallowed, his own mouth gone suddenly dry. Sparrow saw him watching and, choosing a moment when Flemming's attention was on his plate, he slowly and deliberately licked his lips, so that they shone in the candlelight. James looked hastily away.

Immediately after dinner, Jack took his leave, promising to return early on the morrow. Flemming excused himself and James was alone. He poured another glass of wine and drained it and went on deck. And there he paced. The moon rose, flooding the bay with silver-gilt light and blackening the shadows and still Norrington walked up and down the quarterdeck, hands folded behind him, eyes alternately on his feet and on the distance. To say he was thinking would have been to overstate the case. In truth, he was trying very hard _not_ to think. Unbidden, memories would present themselves to his mind's eye and he would banish them, only to have them reappear, mocking his efforts. Fingertips trailing across the back of his hand, a leg pressing against his own hard enough so that he could feel the play of muscles, a shoulder brushing his back - artfully casual and utterly distracting, and a _sinful_ mouth, freshly licked and shining. He licked his own lips before he realized what he was doing and gasped.

This could not be happening. It was impossible that his mind, which all his life had been under such admirable control, should run wild in this abominable manner. Good God, he thought, what is next? If he could not stop these ridiculous fancies, he might even imagine _kissing_… he bit his lip and slammed the door on the thought, but too late. He went to the taffrail and stood still for some time, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Eight bells struck; midnight. With a sigh, he turned and went below to his bunk, where sleep eluded him until, worn down at last, he dozed for a short while near dawn.

James was up betimes; brisk, if a little grim about the mouth. After a brief conference with his captains, he saw the _Forester_ and the _Lord Weldon_ weigh anchor, bound for Port Royal. The _Dauntless_ would remain where she was until work on the Spanish documents was completed.

He had meant to be the first one in his office, intending to take the chair on the far side of the desk, but a question from Captain Marshall delayed him and Flemming had taken his place of the day before. Unable to think of a good reason to ask him to move, Norrington reluctantly sat in one of the chairs facing him. A few minutes later, Captain Sparrow arrived to take the other and their work resumed. James spoke little and was carefully formal when he did so. Sparrow seemed subdued and there was little conversation for several hours.

By midday, the cabin had become stiflingly hot, the breeze having died an hour before. When they stopped, as on the previous day, for a bite to eat, Sparrow removed his coat and waistcoat and laid them aside with a grin. "Formality be damned," he said, "it's too hot for such niceties. I shall work in my shirtsleeves, if you don't mind, Commodore."

James nodded without speaking. Encountering a wistful look from Flemming, he smiled and said, "Go ahead, Mister Flemming. Captain Sparrow is correct; it is too hot to stand upon ceremony." Flemming smiled broadly and imitated Sparrow, sitting back down at the desk in shirtsleeves. After a moment's hesitation, Norrington did the same.

They made good progress for another hour. At that time, Flemming excused himself and left the office for a few minutes. Sparrow, who had been working steadily, then put down his pen and, half-turning in his chair, looked over at James, who continued to read, pointedly ignoring the other man. "You know, James," he said, "I may call you James?"

"You may not," Norrington replied, his tone frosty.

Jack chuckled. "Very well, _Commodore_," he replied, "I have been thinking." He paused.

Norrington sighed. "_What_ have you been thinking, Captain Sparrow?" he said, keeping his eyes on the letter in his hand.

"That you," Sparrow grinned, leaning forward and lowering his voice, "would be a deal cooler and more comfortable if you took off that wig, eh?" As he spoke, he laid his hand against James's shoulder blade.

James flinched at the touch, then held himself rigidly still as Jack slid his palm upward and across until his fingers rested, surprisingly cool, on the nape of James's neck, beneath the queue of the wig. "Don't," James gasped.

"Don't what?" Jack whispered, his mouth mere inches from James's ear.

"Don't," James repeated, his voice equally soft, "Just. Don't." Jack chuckled.

At the sound of Flemming walking down the passageway, Jack released James and sat back, grinning. Before the door opened he was reading, pen in hand, as if nothing had happened.

James sat very still, staring at the paper in his hand, but seeing nothing. His heart was pounding and he had to work to keep his breathing even. His neck burned beneath his wig, as if Sparrow's cool fingers had branded him. He tried not to imagine what might have happened, had not Flemming come back when he did, but once again his traitorous mind ran away from him. Sparrow continued to read beside him, his quill scratching as he made notes, to all appearances entirely unconcerned and Norrington very nearly hated him for the calm that mocked his own agitation.

At last his heart slowed and he was able to resume reading. But he remained painfully conscious of Sparrow sitting just a foot away, and he made little progress.

A couple of hours later, the light began to fade, although it was only late afternoon, and they heard a rumble of thunder. The storm that had been brewing all day seemed about to break. Norrington put a stop to their work, saying that he imagined Sparrow would wish to return to the _Lazarus_ early, to avoid crossing the bay later in what promised to be a foul night. Sparrow bowed with a smile that dripped with mockery and took his leave. Norrington then dismissed Flemming and dined alone.

He had finished eating and, after a brief struggle, had taken the unusual step of pouring himself a glass of rum - knowing that his only chance of sleep that night lay in rendering his mind too numb to torment him - when the storm struck. Great crashes of thunder shook the windows, while jagged bolts of lightning flamed across the sky or struck the hilltops to the west. The mastheads glowed blue. Then the rain came, pouring down in torrents, pounding upon the wood over his head with a sound like great hands slapping the deck as if the ship were a drum. The winds swirled, blowing the rain in at the open windows and whipping the waters of the bay until the _Dauntless_ strained at her anchor. For an hour, the storm bellowed and shrieked before finally blowing itself out just as dark fell. James, the rum forgotten at his elbow, sat and watched as the sky cleared and the stars came out. He felt suspended - strangely calm - as if the paroxysm of the elements had washed his troubled heart and mind as clean as the blue-black sky. He lay down on his bunk and dreamless sleep rolled him under in moments.

James woke at daybreak. He could hear the dawn chorus begin on shore and he lay listening, picturing the low green hills, the trees alive with birds. The peace that had come over him the evening before was still with him, to a certain degree. As he dressed, however, he realized that it was not peace but the calm one feels before battle, when great things are about to be decided. He had run - _been driven_ \- far enough. It was time to turn and face the matter.

Later that morning, when the three of them sat down at the desk, it became apparent that they had nearly completed their work. Long before midday, they had finished annotating every document in the chest. After that, it remained but to compile an index of the contents, a task that could be done most efficiently by one person.

"Congratulations, gentlemen, on a job well done," Norrington said. He glanced at Sparrow and then turned to the lieutenant. "Mr. Flemming, I shall leave the compilation of the index in your capable hands."

"Thank you, sir," Flemming replied, "It shall be done by this evening."

"Very well," Norrington rose. He looked again at Sparrow and held his eye. "We shall leave you to it, Lieutenant."

"Indeed we shall," Jack said, rising. "It was a pleasure working with you Mr. Flemming. Ah, Commodore," he continued as they left the office, "have you been ashore to inspect the smuggler camp?"

"No," Norrington replied, "I have not. Major Thacker's report told me nothing that made such a step seem necessary."

Jack grinned. "Well, Major Thacker and I would be looking for different things, naturally."

James stopped in the narrow passageway and turned to face Sparrow. His face was set. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," Jack replied, lowering his voice and standing far too close, "that if you will come ashore with me, you might find the excursion… interesting." He laid his hand lightly on James's coat-sleeve and James shuddered. "We could take my boat; I rowed myself over this morning. No need for company, eh?"

For a long moment James stared into the dark eyes that glinted with laughter and challenge. Then he nodded curtly and turned to go on deck. Behind him he heard Jack chuckling. He mounted to the quarterdeck and spoke briefly with Captain Marshall, telling him to make ready to sail for Port Royal that evening.

"Oh, and I shall be going ashore with Captain Sparrow this afternoon to inspect the smuggler camp," he added. Marshall saluted and Norrington joined Jack on the main deck. They climbed down to Jack's little rowboat and headed for the shore, a quarter-mile away, Jack rowing.

They didn't speak on the short trip. Norrington stared over Jack's shoulder as the land drew near. Only once did he risk a glance at the privateer's face. Jack was watching him steadily with a half-smile on his lips and James flushed under the scrutiny. At last the bottom grated on the pebbly beach; James stepped out and helped Jack haul the boat above the waterline. Jack reached under the thwart and brought out a bottle which he tucked into the pocket of his coat. He gestured inland. "Shall we?" James nodded.

Jack led the way into the clearing that held the smuggler camp. Several rough huts surrounded by a crude stockade, all showing the effects of the recent battle, stood well away from the trees. They passed through without stopping, making, so far as James could tell, for a small postern on the forest side of the camp. Once beyond the stockade clearing, they walked for some way through the trees and underbrush, from which steam arose as the sun, approaching the zenith, drew up the moisture from the last night's storm. It was very warm. Their path, which had been rising, began to descend.

"Sparrow, where are you taking me?" James asked.

"You will see," Jack said, without stopping. "Not far now."

Indeed, within a few steps they came out of the trees, which ended abruptly at the top of a low cliff. Below them lay a long bay and James understood that they had walked across the base of the spit of land that divided this place from Westerhall Bay. Jack was already on the narrow beach, having scrambled down the cliff - here no more than six feet in height - by the steep and crumbling path. James followed him onto the sand.

Jack grinned at him and indicated the bay with a sweep of his arm. "Not a bad place to spend an afternoon, eh, James?"

James looked around; it was a lovely spot. The beach faced northeast, into the prevailing wind, and the waves broke noisily on the shingle below them. Gulls mewed overhead and patrolled the tideline, poking amongst the wrack and shells for tidbits. Far to their right, the sand ended in a rocky point; to the left, the bay continued for some way inland, curving around to a far shore where the trees grew almost down to the water. "Very pretty," he said at last. Jack was watching him again, with an unbearably knowing smirk and James turned away, retracing his steps to the foot of the cliff and sitting down in the strip of shade at its foot with his back to the stone. He closed his eyes and listened to the rustling of the trees above him, the crash and hush of the surf, and the cry of the gulls. So tightly drawn was he that the sounds thrummed across his senses like wind through a harp.

"Good idea, mate." Jack's voice, coming from directly in front of him, made him jump and open his eyes. The privateer was once again in shirtsleeves; his hat and outer garments lay on the sand. He was holding a green bottle in one hand. "Very good idea," he repeated. "Too hot in the sun." And he sat down beside James in the shade, folding his legs tailor-fashion.

Jack was near enough to touch; James dug his fingers into the sand and broken shells beneath him and stared out to sea. Beside him he heard the squeak and pop of a cork. The bottle nudged his elbow.

"Aged rum," Jack said. "Have some."

"Thank you," James replied. He accepted the bottle, carefully avoiding contact with Jack's hand as he did so. Raising it, he took a cautious sip and was astonished at the smooth and smoky taste. He looked at Jack in surprise. "This is excellent," he said, and took a larger swallow before handing the bottle back.

Jack nodded and drank. "It is," he said. "One more prize off the _Paloma_. Haven't tasted anything to match it." He passed the bottle back to James.

They drank in silence for a few minutes. Finally Jack said, "Do you sleep in that wig, James?"

James choked on a mouthful of rum. "_What?_" he exclaimed, when he could speak again.

"Just wondering," Jack shrugged.

James sighed and set the rum down. He took off his hat and removed the pins that held his wig in place, putting them in his coat pocket. Then he lifted the wig off his head and placed it carefully atop his hat. In truth, it was a relief to be rid of the thing, but he was damned if he would admit that. He ran his fingers through his sweat-damp hair and glared at Jack. "There," he said. "Are you satisfied?"

"Not quite," Jack chuckled. "The coat and waistcoat, too, if you please."

The rum was burning in James's gut and singing in his blood, filling him with reckless impatience. Hastily he threw aside his sword-belt; coat and waistcoat followed and he glared again at Jack, breathing through his nose.

Jack smiled. "Much better, mate," he nodded. "Now we can be comfortable."

_Comfortable_ was hardly how James would have described his present state. He snatched up the bottle and took a long swallow. He slammed it down again with shaking hands and watched Jack pick it up.

The privateer was gazing out to sea, one elegant hand cupping the base of the bottle while the other clasped the neck and stroked it slowly up and down, up and down. James's mouth went dry.

Jack looked at him sidelong, laughed softly and took another swig.

Something in James snapped; with a wordless snarl he surged to his feet and strode down to the water's edge. He clenched his fists but there was nothing to strike. The man was taunting him!

"James," Jack's voice came from just behind his left shoulder.

Goaded beyond caution, he turned and took Jack's face between his hands. "Enough," he said harshly, and kissed him.

Jack surrendered his mouth, nipping and then sucking on James's tongue, his own darting and dancing maddeningly. James devoured Jack's mouth with a greed akin to desperation, taking all that was offered and demanding more. His mind gibbered in protest until he reduced it to shocked silence with another snarl, even as he bit down savagely on Jack's lip and tasted blood. He slid his hands into Jack's hair and tugged, exposing the golden throat to his lips and teeth. When Jack tried to pull away, James's grip tightened fiercely and Jack hissed.

"No more teasing," James growled, taking Jack's earlobe between his teeth. "You've driven me half mad as it is."

Jack laughed, his voice husky and strained, "Only half mad, James?" he said. "I must be losing my touch." He pressed his body to James's, making him groan and stagger as he canted his hips so that their cocks brushed together. He had meanwhile untucked James's shirt and slipped his hands into the waistband of his breeches, pressed flat against the tops of his buttocks. He stepped backward, drawing James with him. "No more teasing," he whispered.

When he reached the base of the cliff, smooth here and still warm from the sun that was now behind the treetops, Jack leaned back against it and pulled James's hips tight against his own. James braced his forearms against the rock wall and thrust hard - blind need driving him as frustration found relief in action - and both men groaned. Jack pulled James into another kiss, rough and wet, that left them gasping. He stroked James's ribs beneath his shirt and ran his thumbs lightly across his nipples, grinning as James shuddered and pressed closer.

"Tell me," Jack murmured, sucking and licking his way along James's jaw. "What do you want?" James froze and Jack said, quickly, "Don't think. Answer."

"God help me," James said, his voice hoarse, "You. I want you."

"Me you have." Jack's laugh was breathless. "What else?"

"This," James groaned, thrusting again. "More."

"More," said Jack, wriggling free. "More is perfect. Couldn't have said it better m'self. I know just the thing."

"Jack," James reached for him but Jack evaded the grasping hands, slipping behind him and reaching around to unbutton his breeches.

"First, the clothes," Jack said, "Off with them." He left James to undress himself while he made quick work of his own garments. When they were both naked, Jack scooped up the rum bottle just as James caught him again.

"Look at you," James breathed, running his fingers in wonder over Jack's scarred and tattooed skin. This glorious body, lithe and hard against his, was not that of a gentleman; the man had to be a pirate. No matter. He stilled his mind and gave himself over to his senses, stroking and tasting. "What _is_ all this?" he asked.

"Stories, love," Jack replied. "History. Someday when we've nothing better to do," he leered amiably, "I'll tell you." He handed James the rum. "Drink up," he said.

James drank and gave the bottle back to Jack who took one long swallow, grinned, and then emptied the last of the rum into his mouth. He pulled James's head down and pressed their lips together, passing the rum to James's mouth from his. James crushed Jack to him, but Jack broke the kiss and leaned back.

"Wait," he said. "Let me show you. Next, we kneel down." He pulled James down to the sand and pressed him back until he was sitting on his heels. Jack tossed aside the empty rum bottle and retrieved a small flask from the pocket of his coat. Then he straddled James's lap, rubbing their cocks together. James gasped at the sensation and gripped Jack's hips to keep him in place.

Jack grinned. "It gets better," he said, uncorking the flask. "Oil." Pouring some into his palm, he slicked James's cock, which jumped and twitched in his hand. He took his time, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the head and sliding his fist along the thick length appreciatively.

James pressed his forehead to Jack's and moaned. "For the love of God," he panted.

Jack slid backwards off James's lap. "Hold out your hand," he said. James obeyed and Jack poured oil into it. "Now," Jack turned round and knelt over James's thighs, his back to James's chest. "You may return the favour." James hesitated and his mind bleated faintly of madness but Jack's wriggle of impatience once more drove thought away. He spread the oil between Jack's buttocks, pressing the tips of two fingers into him. Jack pushed back, groaning and shuddering, urging him deeper. "Hurry," he said, and then, "Good."

Jack reached behind and took hold of James's cock. As James withdrew his fingers, Jack moved up and back and lowered himself by careful degrees onto the shaft, until he had taken it all and his arse rested against James's belly.

James trembled as Jack's body slid down on to his prick, tight and slick and searingly hot. This, _this_ was what he wanted. He grasped Jack's hips, gripping hard with oily fingers, and bucked.

Jack gasped. "Easy, love," he said, "Give me a moment." He leaned back against James's chest, panting and James held himself still, barely breathing, as Jack's body slowly relaxed around him.

"Now?" he asked, at last.

"Now," Jack nodded, shifting his hips and leaning a little forward.

Slowly at first, James thrust upward. Jack moved with him and, after a moment's fumbling, they fell into rhythm. Jack rocked his hips from side to side and clenched, making James gasp and fuck him harder. Faster and faster they moved. James pulled Jack's head back and kissed him and Jack bit his mouth. Gasping, James knew he would not last, it was too much. He took hold of Jack's cock and began to stroke it; Jack cried out and arched back until his head rested on James's shoulder. He came with a shout, spilling his seed over James's hand, his body clenching hard around the invading flesh. James thrust wildly and spent himself, muffling his groan against Jack's neck.

They stayed without moving until their pulses returned to normal. James rested one hand on Jack's thigh and splayed the other across his belly, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. He licked the tattooed shoulder, savouring the salty tang of sweat on his tongue and pressed his lips to the spot. Jack sighed softly, a contented sound.

At last Jack lifted himself off James's cock and sprawled on the sand, pulling James down with him. They dozed for awhile, each using one of Jack's boots for a pillow, then Jack suggested they swim. It was late afternoon when they finally dressed and headed back. They had barely spoken for hours; the silence was easy and unstrained. James looked at the man walking beside him, but, as ever, Jack's face gave away nothing of his thoughts.

When they reached the stockade, Jack stopped and pressed James back against the timber wall, kissing him with leisurely thoroughness before leading the way through the postern and into the view of their waiting ships.

It wasn't until they were in the boat that James, who insisted on rowing, plucked up the courage to speak. "Jack, I…" He found he didn't know what to say.

Jack smiled, eyes watchful under lowered lids. "No regrets, surely, James?" he asked.

"No," James replied quickly, shaking his head. He paused for several strokes of the oars. "No," he said again, "but..."

Jack waited, still smiling, until it became clear that James could go no further and he took pity. He leaned forward and ran his fingers lightly up the inside of James's calf and rested them on his knee. James shuddered and closed his eyes for a moment; when he opened them again they were wide and dark. Jack's smile widened. "You see, love? Don't think so much about it. _Feel_."

James frowned, opened his mouth and shut it again. "It's wrong," he said at last. "The law…"

Jack snapped his fingers. "That for the law," he chuckled, leaning back to rest his elbows on the stern. "Your Navy tries to take all the fun out of life."

"But why…" James stopped again. Jack raised an eyebrow. James flushed. "Why me?"

Jack laughed outright. "Don't you own a looking glass, man?" he asked. "Who could resist?"

James's flush deepened. "You took a risk," he growled.

"Ah, but the reward was worth it," Jack replied. "You enjoyed yourself well enough, didn't you?" he asked. James hesitated, then nodded. "And you'd like to be back inside me at this very moment, wouldn't you?" Jack continued, grinning.

James groaned softly. "God damn you, Jack Sparrow," he muttered.

"No doubt He will," Jack said comfortably, "but not before I've had my fun."

James looked at him with a combination of bafflement and irritation and said nothing.

They were drawing near to the _Dauntless_ and Jack, who was not going aboard but rowing straight on to the _Lazarus_, traded places with James at the oars. As they maneuvered past each other in the tiny craft Jack murmured, "Remember, James: Feel, don't think. Or, if you must think," his voice dropped to a husky whisper, "let it be of next time."

Before James could reply, they bumped against the side of the _Dauntless_.

Jack held out his hand and said, in a voice audible on the deck above, "Well then, Commodore. I shall see you in Port Royal." His mouth quirked and his eyes dared James in so mischievous a fashion that James was hard put to it not to laugh.

"Until Port Royal, Captain Sparrow," James replied gravely, shaking the privateer's hand. He went up the side and turned to see that Jack had already pulled away. He watched the rowboat for a moment and turned to the nearest midshipman, saying, "I shall be in my office. My compliments to Captain Marshall and I shall be obliged if he will wait upon me there when we are ready to sail."

"Aye, sir."

Commodore Norrington nodded and went below.


	9. Port Royal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James deals with consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: T

**A few days later**

Elizabeth was returning from a drive with her friend Miss Johnson when a glimpse of the harbour showed her the _Dauntless_ returning to port and her heart leapt. After dropping Miss Johnson at her home, Elizabeth had herself driven down to the docks. She arrived in time to join a little group of officers' wives come to see the _Dauntless_ warped in to the quay. They stood chatting and twirling their sunshades while the work of mooring the great ship went steadily on. Elizabeth did, with some effort, maintain her part in the conversation, but she could not keep her eyes long from the _Dauntless_, to the perhaps somewhat envious amusement of the older women. They smiled at her eagerness, remembering, no doubt, their own days as brides.

When at long last the Commodore disembarked, his wife stepped forward a few paces and held out her hand, trembling with the effort of not running to throw herself into his arms. She watched with shining eyes as he approached. Norrington bowed over her hand, kissing it and then her cheek. "This is an unexpected pleasure, my dear," he smiled.

"I had been out driving with Cecilia," Elizabeth replied, "and saw you sail in. I could not resist coming down." She took his arm as they walked slowly toward the carriage. "Was it a successful cruise?"

Norrington who had been staring over the harbour with an abstracted frown on his face, looked at her. "Oh, ah, yes - very successful," he said, smiling a little. "In fact, some information came into my hands that will require a deal of work. I am afraid I shall be obliged to sail again quite soon."

Elizabeth could not hide her disappointment, but she smiled nonetheless and squeezed his arm. They had by this time reached the carriage door. "Will you come home with me now, James?" she asked.

"Matters at the Fort demand my attention, my dear," he replied, handing her into the coach. "But I expect I shall be able to get away by dinnertime."

"Then I shall go see to it that Cook prepares something special," Elizabeth said, smiling again, this time with a roguish air. She tugged on his sleeve until he leaned in at the door and she whispered in his ear. "You see what a good Navy wife I am, my James. I would not have you shirk your duty, but," and here she nipped at his ear, causing him to jump, "don't be too long about it."

"Elizabeth," James gasped, laughing a little, "You are incorrigible." He kissed her hand again, closed the carriage door and smiled at her through the window. "I will be home as soon as ever I can," he promised.

"Then I am content," she answered.

James signaled to the coachman and watched for a moment as the horses wheeled about and trotted away. Then he turned his steps up the hill to the fort, once again lost in thought. There was a great deal to occupy his attention, much to set in motion in order to make best use of the intelligence found in the Spanish documents. The coming days would be busy ones.

He glanced over his shoulder at the harbour and frowned. The _Lazarus_ had beaten the slower _Dauntless_ to Port Royal and was anchored a short way out. He wondered what Jack's plans were and once again he felt a stab of irritation at the independence of privateers. He would have to make certain that Sparrow kept clear of the Navy and did not interfere with any action they might mount against the Spanish. A summons to the fort… With a start, Norrington recollected himself. A note delivered to the _Lazarus_ would convey the necessary information; a meeting was neither necessary nor advisable. He shook his head sharply, to clear it, and hastened through the gates and up to his office. He was resolved: That brief madness in Grenada would be forgot and all would be as it was. Nevertheless, it was some time before the view of the harbour ceased to distract him and he was able to give his full attention to his desk.

Later that day, when James arrived at his home, he found Elizabeth waiting in the drawing room. She flew to him and cast herself into his arms with a happy cry of "At last!" Her perfume - a blend of lavender and roses - surrounded him as he bent his head to hers. For a shocking instant her mouth, soft and sweet under his, was unfamiliar, and he gasped. He pulled her closer, banishing _the other_ from his unruly mind by a fierce effort of will. When their lips finally separated, Elizabeth smiled up at him and sighed. "I missed you, too," she said. She took his hand. "Come in to dinner, darling. Cook has prepared all your favorite dishes and Mullins insisted on decanting a bottle of the best Burgundy." James had kissed her fingers and followed her with a smile. It was good to be home.  
***********

Toward daybreak, Elizabeth watched James sleep. He lay half on his side, his leg thrown across hers and one arm snugly about her waist. His breath stirred her hair. After dinner they had retired scandalously early and fallen into bed with such eager haste that they had dispensed altogether with night clothes, reveling in the touch of skin upon skin. Their lovemaking had been more than usually satisfying; her body clenched deliciously at the memory. And yet, there had been _that_ which had puzzled her, a subtle thing; she was not sure there were even words for what she sensed.

"I love you, Elizabeth," he had said, over and over, "I love you." There had been something desperate in the way he repeated it. She had been pleasantly taken aback by the force of his desire; homecomings, while always ending in bed, heretofore had not been occasions for quite such an outpouring, and she wondered what had changed. James had never been backward in such matters - indeed they frequently shocked the servants by slipping upstairs at odd times of the day to dally away the hours in a most delightful manner. But still, something was different.

James stirred and pulled her closer, murmuring her name, and she gave over thinking to snuggle contentedly against his chest. She fell asleep to the beat of his heart beneath her ear.  
***********

Next morning, James went early to the fort, full of determination to put his plans for the Spanish operation into practice as quickly as possible. He spent several hours in conference with his captains and Major Thacker; it was a lively meeting, at which the general outline and many of the details were hammered out. The men left to set about their various tasks with an air of keen enthusiasm that boded well for the success of the undertaking.

James spent the balance of the morning and into the afternoon working his way through the sack of correspondence that had arrived from Admiralty during his absence. He became absorbed in what he was doing and lost track of time, allowing the familiarity of the busy-work that had so often exasperated him in the past to distract him from other worries.

It was therefore with some surprise that, about mid-afternoon, he looked up as his aide entered to announce, "Captain Sparrow of the _Lazarus_."

Jack sauntered in and bowed with a flourish as the aide left, closing the door behind him. "Commodore," he smiled, "we meet again."

Norrington sat back, a slight frown creasing his brow, and nodded coolly. "Captain Sparrow."

Jack's smile took on a hint of mockery and one eyebrow rose. He came forward and seated himself. "Not very pleased to see me, I gather, Commodore?" he said.

"What are you doing here, Captain Sparrow?" Norrington asked. "I should think you would be busy about your pirate-hunting," he said with emphasis, "as authorized by your letters of marque."

Stretching his legs out and crossing his ankles, Jack chuckled. "Tut, tut, James. So _unsubtle_ of you." Norrington scowled and Jack grinned at him. "As a matter of fact, once I complete a few preparations, I shall be off to do that very thing."

"That is well," Norrington replied. "I must remind you that - despite your possession of privileged information… "

"Information which _I_ obtained," Jack interjected.

"_Despite_ that," Norrington continued, frowning at the interruption, "You are not to consider yourself in any way welcome to participate in or interfere with the Navy's activities. I trust I make myself clear?"

"Crystal clear, as always," Jack nodded with a smirk. "You have a gift for the obvious, James."

Norrington flushed and rose abruptly. He strode over to the window and stared down at the harbour, with his hands clasped behind him.

Jack joined him at the window and looked out, his eyes searching for the _Lazarus_ in the swarm below them.

James started as Jack's fingers trailed across his own and he snatched his hands away, placing them on the window sill and leaning upon them. "Not here," he whispered, "Not now."

Jack's voice was in his ear, smoky and smooth as the rum they had shared on the beach. James's mind shied violently away from the memory. "Where?" Jack was asking, "And when?"

James stared straight before him and drew a steadying breath. "Never," he said, "As you know perfectly well."

"I know nothing of the sort," Jack murmured, so close that his warm breath tickled James's neck, causing him to shiver. Jack chuckled. "You see? There _will_ be a next time, love. You know it as well as I do."

"You go too far, Sparrow." James's voice was cold.

"Hardly far enough, but I shan't push you - not yet. In fact, Commodore," Jack went on in a louder tone, "This is purely a courtesy call. I have come to take my leave of you for a time."

Norrington half-turned. "Where," he began and stopped when Jack grinned. "I beg your pardon," he said stiffly. "It is, as I am sure you are about to remind me, none of my business."

"Not at all," Jack said, "I am most willing to tell you. I am going after the _Black Pearl_."

If his intention had been to astonish then the effect was all he could have hoped for. James turned and gaped at him in shock.

"Jack," he exclaimed. "You must be mad! Why, the _Black Pearl_ is the most dangerous pirate in the Caribbean, and the deadliest. Surely you don't mean to take it on with only the _Lazarus_?"

The privateer bared his teeth in a bright and feral grin. "You underestimate me, James," he said. "Barbossa will, I believe, make the same mistake."

James shook his head, his expression concerned. "You can't know that, Jack. And I - _the Navy_ \- can do nothing if you find yourself in trouble."

"Nor would I expect it of you." Jack, still grinning, picked up his hat and prepared to depart. "Best of luck to you in your enterprise against Spain," he said. "Since you disapprove of my choice of quarry, I do not ask for your good wishes in return."

"You have them, nonetheless," James replied. "And thank you."

Jack bowed. "James, I am touched. And so I take my leave." He placed his hat upon his head and went to the door. Turning, he winked and added, "Until _next time_, Commodore Norrington."

James scowled at the closed door and turned once again to the window. Damn Jack Sparrow, he thought, _damn_ him. It was some time before he returned to his desk and the work awaiting him.  
***********

That evening at dinner James listened with amusement as Elizabeth told him of the feud that had grown up between Cook and one of the stable cats. The creature was adept at sneaking into the kitchen, and had raided the pantry more than once. Cook had brought in her nephew's terrier, but a pitched battle between marauder and defender in the scullery had resulted in four broken plates, whereupon the maid had had hysterics and threatened to give her notice if the dog came near her again.

"And so Rip was sent home," Elizabeth concluded, "but the depredations have stopped since that day and we must conclude that the cat has decided to do its poaching on less well-defended territory."

James raised his glass. "Here's to Rip the Terrier, then. Congratulations on an action well-fought."

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Elizabeth watched her husband stare out the window, deep in thought. He looked tired.

"Well, James," she said, "I have told you all our domestic drama, now let me hear how your plans are coming along."

He looked up and smiled, albeit a bit perfunctorily. "Matters are moving forward very well," he replied. "Speed is of the utmost importance, if we are to make full use of the intelligence we have. In fact, we will sail before the week is out."

"So soon!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"I am afraid so, my dear," said James. "But we will be back as quickly. Three weeks or a little more should see us returned to Port Royal."

She smiled, although her heart sank. "Not so very long, then. Why, I shall hardly have time to miss you. Still, if you must leave in just a few days, then I suppose you will not have time for some fencing practice before you go?"

James looked at her sharply. The thought of Elizabeth in her breeches, slim and boyish, made him suddenly and acutely uncomfortable. He remembered rolling about on the lawn with her after a bout, kissing and laughing and he felt a jolt as if someone had struck him a blow over his heart. In his mind the lawn became a beach and he gasped in shock. It was too much; he could not bear to see her dressed man's clothes. He shook his head.

"No," he said, frowning. Acting on a sudden resolution, he added, "In fact, Elizabeth, we must put an end to your lessons."

"Put an end to them!" Elizabeth cried. "But why? What on earth are you talking of?"

"It is most improper. I don't know what I was about, allowing you to flaunt yourself so shamelessly."

"_Shamelessly!_ But James…" The hurt in her eyes stung him, but did not change his decision. He flung up his hand.

"My mind is quite made up, Elizabeth," he said. "I am sorry to cause you pain, but it is best this ends where it does. Let us speak of it no more."

"Very well, James," Elizabeth replied with an effort, "If you wish it." Although astonished and, indeed, hurt by James's sudden reversal, she knew it was fruitless to continue the subject now. More than six months of marriage had taught her to pick her battles. With her husband wearing what she privately referred to as his 'Commodore' expression, she knew it would do more harm than good to attempt to argue her case. It was but a temporary setback; she would not give up entirely - merely, she would wait for the opportune moment to work on him to change his mind.

Over the next few days, Elizabeth had still more cause to wonder, for James was troubled in his mind over something. He was abstracted and often fell silent, frowning to himself. He slept restlessly, sometimes slipping out of their bed when he thought she was asleep to pace softly before the long windows. She put it down to the upcoming expedition, for she knew it meant a great deal to him to be able to steal a march on the Spanish as he intended. He had assured her most convincingly that there was very little danger and so she was able to see him off on the day with a smile. In the carriage on the way home, she told herself that when he returned - successful, of course - he would be restored to his usual humour and all would be well. She made up her mind to worry no more about it.


	10. Tortuga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack baits his trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: G

"Well, damn me black, if it ain't Joshamee Gibbs!" There was a general outcry as the newcomer was recognized. Pirates crowded around him at the bar, shaking his hand and shouting questions.

The grizzled old sailor nodded. "Aye, 'tis me, right enough."

"What the Hell are you doing here?" someone asked, loud enough to be heard over the hubbub.

"Perishing of thirst," Gibbs laughed. Instantly, a brimming tankard of rum was pressed into his hand. He drank deep, smacking his lips and grinning. "Ah, now that hit the spot. Thankee." He turned to face the room, elbows on the bar behind him. "It's good to be back," he said.

"We thought you was dead, Josh. Where've ye been all these years?"

"Oh, here and there," Gibbs replied easily. "Mostly out East. But Jack got a hankerin' to see the Caribee once more and here we are."

A mutter went round the group. "Sparrow! I told ye he was back." Gibbs drank his rum and waited. Finally someone asked what was on every mind, "We hear tell that Sparrow's turned privateer. That true?"

Gibbs chuckled. "Well now," he replied, laying a finger beside his nose, "There's _some_ as thinks so. Amazin' what the Navy will believe, if your papers look real, if you know what I mean. No, men, Jack is as he ever was."

There was a general laugh and a few voices said, "I told ye! Jack's up to his tricks."

"Where is he now, Josh?"

"Oh, not far," Gibbs said with a wink, "not far. But it wouldn't do for a fine, upstanding _privateer_ to be seen here in Tortuga, eh lads?" More laughter and someone refilled Gibbs's tankard. "And, since he can't be here himself, he sent me on this errand." He drank again.

"Come on, Gibbs, out with it. Why are you here?"

I'm recruiting, boys," Gibbs said. "We need a few more stout hands for a venture Jack's got in mind. Don't ask me what, for I can't tell ye particulars until we sail, but there's gold involved." He nodded wisely and buried his nose in his tankard once again.

"Damn it, Josh! You can't expect us to take ye on trust. Give us a hint."

"No," Gibbs shook his head, "Not a word more. Jack'd skin me."

And so it went for some hours. The crowd wheedled and plied Gibbs with rum and he steadfastly refused to tell them aught of Jack's plans. While he seemed to be thoroughly drunk - garrulous and jovial - he was immovable on this one point. Until, that is, toward dawn. The crowd had thinned out, the whores and shills had gone to ground, and the common room contained only a score of seasoned buccaneers.

"Well, alright then. Since it's just us, I'll give you a hint of what's afoot," Gibbs said, leaning forward with both elbows on the table and peering at them through bloodshot eyes. "But not a whisper's to go beyond this room, understand?"

"Oh aye, Josh. You can count on us," they said, eyes glittering as they watched him.

Gibbs took another swig of rum and wiped his mouth. "It's a treasure ship," he said, lowering his voice so that they strained to hear. "Careened on a beach for repairs. And her escort's all lost in the storm that damaged her."

"Where?"

"On Bonaire," Gibbs replied. "In the lake behind Sorobon. Been there three weeks and it'll be another two before she's afloat again."

The pirates nudged each other and fairly drooled at the thought. But one doubter spoke up. "What about the Dutch navy? Surely they are on guard."

Gibbs chuckled. "Ah, that's the beauty of it, lads," he grinned. "With the treasure ship so well hidden, they deemed it best to call no attention to Sorobon. The Dutch fleet is in harbor at Willemstad. I seem 'em myself, not ten days ago. They are keeping the news of this ship mighty close, what's more."

"So how'd you hear of it, then?"

"Why, you know Jack, boys," Gibbs winked. "Friends in the right places."

His audience laughed. They did indeed know Jack Sparrow of old.

"So," Gibbs went on, "Jack'll wait until she's afloat again and then nip in and take her. That's why we need more men - she'll be wanting a prize crew. So, what say ye? Are you with us?"

The men assented with great eagerness, all save one at the back of the group, who slipped out the door unnoticed in the general excitement. The barkeep - passed out behind his bar - was kicked awake and made to find them pen, ink and paper. When these items were produced, Gibbs drew up a list containing the name of each volunteer, who then made his mark against it.

"There we are, all right and tight," Gibbs said, folding the paper and tucking it into his pocket. Meet me on the docks tonight at moonrise and we'll go join Jack and be on our way. Now mind ye, not a word to soul in the meanwhile."

They all assured him of their complete silence and left him there in the tavern. Gibbs finished his rum and sat for a few minutes, gazing into the embers of the fire and chuckling now and again. Had any been there to see him, they would have noticed that his air of inebriation had fallen away as the last man departed. "Well done, Josh," he said to himself, "the bait's taken and the hook set. Barbossa must know by now." He had seen the man slip out before the signing and knew Jack's plan was working. "In two weeks, if our luck holds…" He chuckled again and stretched himself out along a bench at the back of the room and fell sound asleep.  
*******

That evening, Gibbs loaded his recruits - every one of whom was prompt to the time appointed - onto a small sloop and they sailed some way down the coast to the _Lazarus_, where she lay hidden in a rocky inlet favoured by smugglers. When all were aboard, they hoisted anchor and got under way. Once they were well out to sea and headed for the Windward Passage, Jack called the new hands aft and spoke to them from the quarterdeck.

"Welcome, men, to the privateer _Lazarus_," he said. The pirates grinned and nudged each other, winking. Jack grinned back at them and continued.

"In a moment I shall read the Articles and ask you all to sign them. You'll find them very like to those of other ships you've sailed on, I assure you. There is one difference that I wish to make very clear, so there will be no unfortunate misunderstandings or foolish actions." He looked so unwontedly serious that the men stopped fidgeting and grew still to hear.

"As a _privateer_," Jack said, "We keep company that may seem strange to you at first; go into action with unlikely allies. We are welcome in places where pirates dare not show their faces. This, as you may believe, is useful and - take my word for it - very profitable. Do not think you know who is friend and who foe; for you are as likely as not to be wrong. Follow my lead and you will be rich men ere long; disobey me and it will not be so well. Are we agreed?"

"Aye!" the men shouted.

"Very well, then," Jack laughed. He proceeded to read the ship's articles and had each man sign or make his mark. Then he turned them over to Gibbs and Anamaria, who assigned them watches and got them settled in. It was almost two hours later when Gibbs joined Jack on the quarterdeck.

"Well, Josh?" Jack asked.

"They'll do," Gibbs replied. "Good men, for the most part. I've my doubts about one or two, but in the main, they'll do."

"And you're sure the news got to Barbossa?"

"Sure as I'm standing here. Don't you worry, Jack." Gibbs chuckled. "Word is, Barbossa's gone a bit mad, of late. Actin' reckless, like; takin' risks no sane man'd take. This 'treasure ship' will draw him like a fly to dung."

"Especially when he thinks he can take the treasure and then have me walk into his trap, eh?" Jack grinned.

"Aye," Gibbs chuckled. "But he'll have a surprise or two coming to him, won't he?"

"He will indeed," Jack replied. "Now, then, we must make our best time to Willemstad. Crowd sail - all she'll take. Give these new hands a chance to show what they're made of."

"Aye, Cap'n," Gibbs sketched a salute with a grin and took himself off.

For some time Jack stood on the quarterdeck, watching the moon soar to the zenith. The _Pearl_ was still in Tortuga, but not for long, he knew. He glanced back over his shoulder. He could feel her, could point to where she lay in the darkness behind them. "Soon, darlin'," he whispered. "Very soon."


	11. Off Lacre Punt, Bonaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack springs his trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: M. Warning for mild to moderately graphic violence.

The winds had favoured them; they had made good time to Willemstad and found everything ready, according to the plans made on their previous visit. Jack had gone ashore alone and spent a busy afternoon, calling first upon the Governor and then at the fort.

Governor van der Groot had received him privately, to the vast annoyance of others who had been waiting far longer for a moment of his time. When Jack was shown in, the Governor leapt to his feet and came forward with his hand extended. "Jack, you rascal," he cried, in his heavily accented English, "So you have come back!"

Jack laughed as he took the proffered hand. "How could you doubt me, Pieter?" he smiled, "After all these years I should think you'd have learnt a little trust."

Van der Groot snorted amiably. "When pigs fly, my old friend. After watching your escapades out East for so long, I have learnt rather to count my fingers after shaking your hand. When I think about that time with the Rajah and his pearls…!"

Both men laughed again. "Curse your good memory," Jack replied. "But confess - when were you ever the poorer for helping me?"

"Never yet," the Governor admitted, pouring wine and waving Jack to a seat. "And this time had better be no different. This operation will be costly."

"You'll recoup your costs, as we planned," Jack said, "if you fulfill your part of our bargain." He toasted his host and drank.

"Ja, ja, never you worry, all is prepared," van der Groot nodded, drinking in his turn. "The decoy ship is in place, careened in the north shore of the lake. It was about to be scuttled - too full of shipworm to be saved - so it's a small loss. And the crew has prepared her as you suggested."

"Good," Jack smiled, "Excellent. And the Navy?"

"Two ships of the line are ready to sail as soon as you give the word," the Governor replied. "Are you certain you will succeed in taking Barbossa with this ruse? I am running a big risk, getting the Navy involved."

Jack looked grim for a moment. "Oh yes, the bastard will fall into our trap. For too long, he's been used to thinking of himself as invincible. It has made him careless." He brightened. "Stop fretting about your precious Navy, Pieter! Unless Fortune plays me a jade's trick, they will do no more than stand by and watch. Oh, _and_ take all the credit with the merchants' guild, when they claim the reward for killing Barbossa." He winked and the Governor laughed.

"That is well," van der Groot said, "Let us drink to Fortune, then. May she smile upon us!"

"To Fortune," Jack cried, tossing back the last of his wine. "And now, my friend, I must be about my business. We sail this evening. I want our ambuscade to be in place well before dawn tomorrow."

"Good luck, Jack," the Governor said, wringing his hand. "Someday you must show me this _Pearl_ about which you have told me so much; I am eager to make her acquaintance."

"I shall, Pieter," Jack replied, "Word of a … _privateer._"

Laughing, they had parted. Jack had gone next to the Fort and ascertained that it was indeed as van der Groot had told him; two Navy ships were ready to sail with him to Bonaire. He had gone once more over the plan with the Dutch captains and then had returned to the _Lazarus_ in high spirits.

They had sailed at sunset and dawn found them just to the west of Lacre Punt, the southernmost tip of Bonaire. Sorobon and the lake where lay the supposed treasure ship were less than five miles up the eastern side of the little island - here barely four miles wide.

All the morning, they watched the shore for a signal. At last in the afternoon a tiny fishing boat came dancing out to meet them, carrying the news. The _Black Pearl_ had been spotted just north of Sorobon. Their messenger related how he and his brother had watched as a boat had been lowered and been rowed into the mouth of the lake, whereupon it had returned speedily to the _Pearl_.

"That's it, then," Jack had said, at the end of the tale, when the messenger had been sent off with a generous reward and final instructions for the crew of the decoy, "Barbossa will wait until full dark to attack. We'll round the point as soon after sunset as may be." He signaled to the Dutch and saw to final preparations aboard the _Lazarus_.

At sunset, Jack had the whole crew assembled on deck. With Gibbs and Anamaria at his side he addressed them briefly. "As most of you have no doubt guessed," Jack said, "we are _not_ going after a treasure ship this night. Indeed, that ship is an empty hulk - bait in a trap I've set with the help of our Dutch friends yonder." The men stared at him and waited. Some grinned in anticipation. "The bait has been taken by a far fatter prize and we are about to spring the trap. Tell me," Jack said. "Do you know of the hoard on Isla de Muerta?"

Every one of them nodded. "Aye," they said, "What of it?"

Jack grinned. "In a few hours, lads, it will be ours. Tonight we take the _Black Pearl_."

He was answered with a roar compounded of astonishment, hilarity and greed. They all knew, of course, how Barbossa had taken the _Pearl_ from Jack years ago and were not surprised that he should be bent still on taking her back. It was the effrontery of his methods that delighted and amused them. A ragged cheer went up as he sent them back to their stations. They would be rich men before the night was out!

As the swift tropical dusk faded, the Dutch hoisted sail and, following Jack's lead, rounded the point and sailed northward to Sorobon. They ran without lights, as they wished to avoid notice until they were in position.

Meanwhile, at full dark Barbossa had moved the _Pearl_ into the lake, as Jack had predicted. There was an element of cunning in his foolhardiness in entering a place with but one exit; he planned to make short work of the crew of the treasure ship and then to lie in wait for the _Lazarus_ just within the mouth of the lagoon.

"We'll set a trap for Sparrow," he told Will. "Once we've the treasure safe aboard, we will wait for him to join our little party."

"And then I kill him," Will replied without looking up from the sword he was sharpening.

"If you're man enough," Barbossa laughed, noting with pleasure how the younger man's shoulders tensed at the taunt. "Succeed and the _Lazarus_ is yours. Fail," he shrugged. "And I give the task of avenging your father to another."

"You wouldn't dare," Will muttered, clenching his fists on the hilt of the sword and glaring at the deck. "Sparrow is _mine_."

"Two days, boy," Barbossa replied. "I calculate Sparrow will arrive in two days. You'll have your chance. Now, go muster your landing party to stand by the boats; we're almost ready."

Once the _Pearl_ had the supposed treasure ship in range of her cannon, she cast anchor and lowered the boats with great stealth. Into them went nearly the entire crew, led by Will. As they rowed in, they could see the cook-fires of the camped sailors and the occasional shadow of a man passing between those fires and the shore. There was no alarm given. The raiders appeared to be undetected.

This was, however, not the case. The decoy crew, having been warned by Jack's messenger earlier in the day, had, as ordered, decamped inland, leaving but a handful of men to complete preparations for the reception of the buccaneers. It was these few brave souls that were seen moving about so coolly around the fires. Before the first boat touched the shore, they had all slipped away on the land side of the careened ship and were making their way inland to join their mates.

While the attention of the pirates - those on the _Pearl_ as well as those in the boats - was focused intently upon the 'treasure ship', Jack had brought the _Lazarus_ into the lake, leaving the Dutch warships outside the mouth to prevent any escape, should his plan miscarry. He moved silently into the lagoon, carrying just enough sail to give steering way, waiting for the opportune moment.

The pirates poured out of the boats and raced up the beach, yelling and brandishing their weapons, only to come to a puzzled halt at the edge of the deserted encampment. They began to search the canvas lean-tos and a few of them even clambered onto the ship in search of the missing crew. But their search was perfunctory, despite Will's orders to be thorough, for a great heap of what appeared to be chests lay a few dozen yards further up the beach, covered with tarpaulins; it drew their attention and most of them raced to uncover the 'treasure'.

Will shouted for them to come back but they ignored him. They had just begun yanking the covering off the pile when the first of the slow matches left by the departed crew reached the powder kegs beneath the canvas.

The night erupted with a thunderous roar as a series of tremendous explosions blew the false treasure to smithereens. The smoke and flames shot a hundred feet in the air, illuminating the scene with terrible clarity. The blast wreaked dreadful havoc upon anyone so unfortunate as to be nearby. Indeed, Will and the handful of others who had been on the ship or near the water were the only ones to escape unscathed. Cursing and screaming they ran, dodging the rain of shattered wood, flaming canvas and other more grisly fragments, to see if any of their mates had survived.

Before they had gone more than a few steps, the sound of cannon-fire behind them brought them around with a jerk. From the flashes they saw that someone was firing on the _Pearl_ from further out in the lake. The light of the fires ashore dimly lit the scene, but even without that aid Will could see the answering flash as the _Pearl_ returned fire; her response slow and ragged. There were too few left aboard to man the guns adequately.

"Men, to me," he roared, and ran for the boats.

Aboard the _Pearl_ Barbossa, alone on the quarterdeck, had watched the decoy explode with horrified comprehension. Instantly, he saw the trap into which he had fallen. He shouted an order to man the starboard guns against attack, but his words were drowned in the roar of the broadside from the _Lazarus_.

"Return fire, damn you to hell!" he bellowed at the men still standing. "Hold them off or we're lost." He cursed them as they staggered across to the cannons; too slow, too late. He looked again at the shore and saw the boats putting off, again too slow. If Will had survived, he was too far away to save him.

When the explosion and fire ashore had lit up the lake, the _Pearl_ had stood out in stark relief against the leaping flames. Jack, who had been awaiting this moment, and who was - by a combination of skill, audacity and sheer luck - exactly where he wanted to be, pulled the _Lazarus's_ head around and fired a broadside, catching his quarry entirely by surprise. He'd had the guns loaded with grapeshot and ordered them to fire high and, as he'd hoped, this took a toll of the pirates, who were all on deck to watch the action ashore. He then gave the order to man the grapples and, before the _Pearl_ could fire off more than two shots, he had her fast and he was leading his men over the bulwarks.

The fight on the main deck was brief. The remnant of the Pearls, demoralized by twin disasters, was easily overpowered and killed or disarmed. Barbossa drew his sword and stood unmoving as he watched the bitter overset of his lovely plan. Damn Jack Sparrow to Hell, he thought. And damn Will for failing him this way. But hope did not quite die; he knew himself the deadliest swordsman alive - save Turner, if indeed he still lived - and he might at least take Sparrow with him.

Jack, meanwhile, leaving the crew to his men, dashed for the quarterdeck where his enemy waited. The light from shore, where the fires had now spread to the beached ship, painted Barbossa all down his left side with a reddish glow. His sword gleamed, its point steady.

They wasted no breath on words but set to at once. Barbossa fought with every iota of a skill made yet more savage by desperation. But, as good as he was, Jack was better. For more than ten years Jack had waited, honing his skill, for this very moment.

Back and forth across the quarterdeck they fought; attack, parry, riposte, counter-riposte. Jack pushed Barbossa hard, attacking faster and faster until on one lunge, Barbossa's parry came an instant too late and Jack's point - deflected from the heart - drove deep into his shoulder.

"That's for my _Pearl_," Jack said, through his teeth. He yanked the blade free and pressed forward. There would be no quarter offered.

Barbossa's breathing was becoming laboured; he was bleeding heavily. He gave ground, parrying slower and no longer attacking. Once again he was too slow and Jack thrust him clean through his left arm.

"That's for Bootstrap," Jack snarled, advancing relentlessly.

Barbossa bit off a cry. With his left arm useless, he was off-balance and slowed still further. His enemy's eyes gleamed in the hellish light like chips of obsidian and he read his death in them. And still he fought, his parries becoming wilder and more desperate.

Suddenly, Jack beat aside his blade and lunged at full stretch. His sword caught Barbossa in the left side, entering between the ribs below the heart and piercing both lungs before the point emerged from his right shoulder.

The dying man sagged forward onto the blade, his own weapon dropping from his twitching hand. Jack stepped back, and let Barbossa slide off his sword and to the deck, where he lay gasping and coughing up blood. Barbossa struggled to speak but his lungs were filling and no words came.

"And that's for me," Jack said softly. He stood without moving and waited while Barbossa drowned in his own blood. It was a death neither quick nor easy and Jack watched the prolonged agony with grim satisfaction. Then he wiped his sword on the dead man's coat and turned to the main deck.

"The _Black Pearl_ is ours," he cried and his men cheered.

"Captain!" Gibbs cried, pointing toward the shore, where the remainder of the landing party was rowing madly across the lake toward the _Pearl_.

"Fire when ready, Mister Gibbs," Jack replied coolly.

His men dashed to the guns and, finding them ready, paused only to adjust the aim and fired. The shots missed the oncoming boats but they were seen to put about and head back to the shore. Despite continued fire from the _Pearl_ they made it to the beach unscathed and the pirates dashed up the beach and into the darkness beyond the fires.  
********

Will cursed his mates as they put about and fled, but they ignored both his orders and his pleas, pulling hard for the shore. When he went for his sword he was restrained, struggling and swearing. "You whoreson cowards! It's Sparrow!" he cried, throwing himself about so violently that he nearly upset the boat, "The _Pearl_! To the _Pearl_! Are you deaf?"

A shot splashed into the water between the fleeing boats, drenching all with spray.

"The _Pearl's_ lost, Will," they told him, again and again. "It's over. If we go back there we die."

At last their words penetrated his battle-rage and he stood quiet in their grasp, staring back at the ship, which was still firing upon them. It was true, the battle for the _Pearl_ was over; the defenders were dead or captured. She could not be retaken with the twenty men who were all that remained of the shore party.

Will shook himself free and nodded. "Then we will avenge her," he said. The boats had reached the shore by now and he leapt out. "Follow me," he cried, as, drawing his sword, he led the way inland.  
**********

Aboard the _Pearl_ Jack had given orders for the lanterns to be lit both there and on the _Lazarus_ and had sent up a signal to the waiting Dutch warships. He had the handful of surviving Pearls locked in the brig. Then the few of his own crew who had been wounded were tended and made comfortable.

"Let no mention of the captives be made to our allies," he ordered. "I've a better plan for them."

When the Dutch entered the lake and learned that two boatloads of pirates had escaped, they sent men in pursuit, if with scant hope of catching the fugitives. They also took charge of the bodies of Barbossa and the other dead pirates, as Jack had agreed with van der Groot. "To hang in chains in Willemstad," they explained. "as proof that the reign of the _Black Pearl_ is over."

The two Dutch captains would claim the reward from the Willemstad merchant's guild for killing Barbossa and split it with van der Groot. This was the agreement by which Jack had obtained both their assistance with the decoy and permission to operate in Dutch waters. They got the gold, he got the _Pearl_. In balance, he was well satisfied, since he and his crew also got the treasure of the Isla de Muerta, about which he took good care to tell his Dutch friends nothing.

It was shortly after dawn that the search party returned with the crew of the decoy, having failed to find any trace of the escaped pirates. The warships then made haste to depart. It was their intention to sail round the island, one to the north and one to the south, warning the towns and settlements of the fugitives and perhaps, with luck, catching them.

Jack saw them go with relief; he was done with allies and eager to be about his own business. Through the night he'd had men working to remove all traces of the battle from the _Pearl_. His choice of grapeshot for the broadside, and the high line of fire, had been deliberate. It meant that very little damage had been done to the ship herself, save to the rigging. By sunrise the decks were cleaned of blood and most of the rigging repaired. There were weeks of work yet to do, for the ship was filthy and ill kept. Jack's heart burned as he went over her from stem to stern and from the topmasts to the bilges. His beautiful _Pearl_ had been cruelly mistreated. He wished he had Barbossa back, so that he could kill him again - more slowly. He set men to mucking out the main cabin, throwing Barbossa's effects overboard. Jack wanted all trace of the usurper removed and the ship cleansed of his taint. After breakfast, as the sun rose high, Jack called the whole crew to a meeting on the main deck.

"Well, gentlemen," Jack said from the quarterdeck, "here we are with two ships." The crew cheered and Jack bowed. "It will come as no surprise that I intend to take command of the _Black Pearl_." His hand caressed the quarterdeck rail as he spoke.

"Therefore, I shall need a new captain for the _Lazarus_. Seeing as Mister Gibbs is quartermaster, the honour rightly belongs to him. But he has declined it, preferring to sail with me on the _Pearl_." Jack smiled at Gibbs, who grinned back and waved him on.

"Next in line for the new command, of course, is the first mate. Not to mention the fact that I… er… owe her a boat," Jack said with a slight cough.

"Damn right," Anamaria was heard to mutter. The men standing nearest chuckled until reduced to silence by her fierce glare.

"Accordingly," Jack continued, pretending not to notice, "I hereby appoint Anamaria captain of the _Lazarus._ Three cheers for Captain Anamaria!"

The crew cheered with a will. No man who had ever sailed with her or fought by her side would dream of questioning her fitness for the post, nor would they cavil at being commanded by a woman. She had earned her place and their respect was given freely. When the last Huzzah faded, Jack went on.

"There are enough of you to crew both ships sufficiently well, even though we'll be a bit short-handed until we sign on a few more men. Before we do that, it is my intention to sail for the Isla de Muerta to lay claim to our treasure," he said. Some cheers broke out and he raised his hand for silence.

"I shall put it to a vote, however. Shall we take our treasure first - which will mean standing double watches now and again - or do we go to Tortuga to take on more crew first - and share the treasure amongst more men? Which is it to be, mates?"

"Treasure!" they cried, "Give us the treasure first!"

Jack grinned. "Now why am I not surprised?" he wondered aloud and the crew roared with laughter. "Very well then; Captain Anamaria, if you will be so good as to join me, we shall work out our crew assignments and sail on the next tide."

"What about the prisoners?" someone shouted.

Jack's smile turned sardonic. "Oh, yes," he replied, "On our way to Isla de Muerta we'll be passing near a certain godforsaken spit of land on which I was once set down by the late Captain Barbossa and the men now occupying the brig. It seems only fitting that we maroon them in the same place, eh lads?"

There was a general laugh and someone said, "You're a hard man, Captain."

Jack bowed once more and turned to speak with Anamaria who had joined him on the quarterdeck. It took them very little time to divide the crew between the brig - which Anamaria had rechristened the _Fury_ \- and the _Pearl_.

Once all the _Pearl's_ new crew had shifted their gear, Jack put them to work cleaning and polishing until the tide turned and the two vessels set sail.  
********

Will Turner looked down on the quays of Kralendijk and swore. The sloop they wanted was moored at the end of the nearest - a perfect craft for twenty men - but there was too much activity around her. He swore again. The sun had barely risen and yet the dock swarmed with sailors and slaves, loading cargo and preparing to sail.

It had been a long night. They had made their way clear across the island to this little port on the western coast - perhaps 7 miles in a straight line, although they had walked much further due to the need to give all settlements a wide berth. Indeed, they had passed too close to one hamlet and a dog had begun to bark. The inhabitants, roused by the noise, had fired upon them in the darkness and an unlucky shot had killed one of their number.

"What do we do now, Will?" someone asked.

At least, Will thought, the men still followed him. Together, they stood a chance of winning free; singly, none at all. He surveyed the scene below them once again.

"We must move fast," Will said at last. "Whoever helped Sparrow set that trap last night will be after us. We need a diversion." He thought a moment longer.

"A fire in the warehouses… that might do it. Tom, Billings - go down and see if you can't set one. The rest of you, we will make our way to the seaward end of that farthest shed."

The others had begun to grin. "Aye," they said, "And once the fire's well away, we take her and run for it. Good thinking, Will."

Tom and Billings slipped down the hill, angling away from the quay and the others watched until they disappeared in the alley between two warehouses and then crept down to crouch behind a heap of old casks as near as they could get to the sloop.

There they waited for what seemed like hours until at last a cry of "Fire!" arose far down the docks. They listened without moving as the outcry grew and the sound of running feet swelled and then receded as every man rushed to help with the fire. At the same time the two fire-starters rejoined their mates, dashing half-crouched along the backs of the buildings facing the harbour.

Gesturing for the others to remain hidden, Will moved cautiously around the barrels until he could see the length of the quay. It was deserted. He ducked back with a grin. "Now!" he cried, and they leapt up and ran for the sloop.

There was not a soul on board. They cut her loose and shoved off. Will sent men forward to set the jibs to give them steering way. As they cleared the quay they raised the main and the little sloop seemed to leap ahead. There was no alarm yet from shore and they were well beyond musket range. Will put the helm over and headed southwest, running before the breeze, intending to pass south of the islet of Klein Bonaire. Looking back he could see figures racing up the quay, gesticulating wildly. They had been spotted at last, but already the tumult behind the sloop was growing dim. They had done it; they were free.

Past Klein Bonaire, they headed northwest for some hours, until Bonaire itself was but a vague blue cloud on the horizon astern. Will then brought her around just north of east, sailing as close to the wind as she would go. He turned the helm over to one of the men and proceeded to inspect their prize thoroughly.

She was an island-hopping trader. Her hold was full of a miscellany of goods from calico to ironmongery. There were a few small kegs of rum - the cause of some rejoicing among the crew - and the galley was well stocked. She was armed, but barely; two five-pounders were all her arsenal. Will shook his head. They would rely on her speed in any case. They were hardly in a fit state to fight anyone. In the captain's cabin he found a strongbox with two hundred gold pieces. Gold. That gave him to think. What were they to do, now?

The _Pearl_ was gone. Gone. Even yet, Will could hardly grasp it. And with her more than fifty men - his mates. The _Pearl_ had been his home for so long now that he barely remembered any other. He loved her deeply although that emotion was not unalloyed; for in recent months she had been for him a prison and a living hell. And here he stopped his restless prowling and stood, eyes a little wide, as the thought occurred.

Barbossa. Will's heart gave a bound. _Barbossa_ was gone - dead or captive, it mattered not; if he were not yet dead he soon would be. Dead, Will thought, and in Hell. Never again would he hear that hateful voice in his ear gloating and taunting. Never again would he be broken and forced to a pleasure so foul… his stomach heaved. His legs abruptly failed him; he sat on the bunk and buried his head in his hands.

In all the time of his torment - nearly two endless years - he had not wept, but what despair could not achieve, freedom had done in moments. Will sat silent, shoulders heaving as he struggled to control himself. His tears fell with faint ticks to the wooden deck and he thanked his luck that he was alone in the tiny cabin, for what the crew would make of this unmanly lapse he dared not think. Perhaps they would think you mourned him, his mind whispered. He was startled into a laugh; the utter absurdity of it stopped his weeping and he was able to pull himself together. "Enough," he muttered, and stood, wiping his face on his sleeve.

The question remained; what were they to do? What was _he_ to do? Regain the _Black Pearl_, of course. But how? He would need a ship, or more than one, heavily armed and well manned. For that he needed… gold. His eye fell on the opened strongbox with its two hundred pieces and he shook his head. It would take many times that amount to raise the necessary forces.

Very well then, their first destination would be the Isla de Muerta. At least they still had that. They would bring off enough of the remaining treasure to buy what they needed to hunt down the _Pearl_ and take her back. And Captain Jack Sparrow would die.


	12. Isla de Muerta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fateful almost-meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: T

Once through the secret passage, Will sailed the sloop - which they had named _Dogfish_ \- past the inlet that held the main entrance to the caves. The high spur of rock that bounded the inlet masked another, smaller anchorage on its far side. Too narrow and shallow for the _Pearl_, it was perfect for their present craft. It, too, boasted an opening into the treasure cave; one, moreover, that lay but a score of yards away as they dropped anchor. This would speed the work of loading the treasure with the sloop's one small boat.

Leaving two men on guard, the others went ashore and entered the cave through a narrow, twisting tunnel that debouched behind a rocky buttress, well hidden in the shadows. Every heart was lifted by the sight of the wealth piled in the cavern. There was, of course, far less of it than on the day when as a child Will had first seen this place, but it was still an impressive hoard - and now, it had only to be split twenty ways. The pirates, nothing if not pragmatic, found any grief they might feel for lost comrades to be washed away by the golden glow that rose from the cave.

"Gems, nuggets and minted coin," Will reminded them. "It must take up little room and be readily spent - we have no time to waste finding buyers for statuary or armour."

"Aye, Will," they said, scattering to gather what was wanted.

In a couple of hours they had filled a number of small chests with coin and two more with gold nuggets. A small sack was bulging with several dozen of the choicest pearls. They began to shift the chests to the _Dogfish_. This required a number of trips, as the small boat could carry only two chests at a time. While some returned to the sloop to help take the chests on board and others rowed back and forth, Will and three men finished shifting the last of their selections to the mouth of the tunnel. They had just loaded the final two chests into the boat when they heard noises emanating from the cavern. Voices!

Will sent the boat back to the _Dogfish_ with instructions to load the chests and return as quickly as possible for him and the others. "Quietly, mind," he cautioned them. "Sound is magnified by the tunnel and you'll be heard else." The rowers pulled away and Will turned to the three men with him. "Come on," he said. They crept back along the passage, the sounds from the cave growing with each step they took. Before they reached the buttress they could see the flickering of torchlight on the rock walls, and the sound of many men shouting and calling to each other.

They peered from their hiding place to see that the cavern was swarming with upwards of eighty pirates, rooting through the treasure - _their_ treasure! - and yelling excitedly. Rage and astonishment held them motionless for a moment, but then they drew their swords. It was with difficulty that Will restrained them from rushing out - heedless of the ridiculous odds - to defend their hoard.

Will's consternation was, if anything greater than theirs, but still he kept his head. These must be Sparrow's men - he was sure of it. But how had they found their way to the Isla de Muerta? The sea had been empty when he had brought the _Dogfish_ into the hidden passage, of this he was certain. And Barbossa had never, so far as he knew, written down the bearings to this place. Had one of the _Black Pearl's_ crew been persuaded to lead the thieves here?

Just then a dark-haired man in a green coat ascended the little hill at the center of the cave and raised his arms for silence. Gradually the cacophony died down and the crowd stood staring up at him. "Well, gentlemen," he said, when silence had fallen at last, "are you satisfied?"

A hundred voices roared "YES" and the speaker laughed. He waved his arms and swayed forward with an odd grace.

"Here it is," he continued, "the fabled hoard of the Isla de Muerta - ours by right of conquest."

The crowd roared again, masking the snarled curses of the hidden watchers. Will realized that this must be Sparrow and he felt his rage growing, gnawing at his control. He wanted to rush out and strike him down, no matter the cost to himself. But the thought of his men steadied him. He must get them safe away. Sparrow would yet die at his hand, he swore - for his father and for the _Pearl_.

"The son of a bitch still has the compass!" Billings exclaimed.

"What did you say?" Will asked, signaling for them to lower their voices as the uproar in the cavern abated once more.

"The compass," Billings said, pointing toward the speaker. "See it at his hip?"

"What about it?"

"It's said that it's magic, that it points the way to the Aztec gold," Billings explained. "When Barbossa took the _Pearl_ and marooned him, it was lost. We thought he'd tossed it overboard but somehow the bastard took it with him."

Will knew, of course, that Barbossa had taken the ship from Sparrow, but this was the first he'd ever heard of the compass. He glanced over at the sinister stone chest, which they had moved against the far wall of the cave all those years ago, when the curse had been removed. None had touched it since and yet it seemed that some shred of the ill-will of the Heathen Gods still pursued them, for the cursed gold had guided his enemy here to rob him once again. He swore.

Sparrow was speaking but Will ignored him. He looked at his men and shook his head. "We are too few," he whispered. "We can't fight them here. We need ships and men enough to be sure we will win. And then - we will take back what is ours."

His face was strained and set, the expression so grim that the men fidgeted under his gaze. Although cold and quiet, it put them in mind of the battle-rage that came over Will when he fought, and they shuddered. Silently they followed him down the tunnel and out to the waiting boat. Best not to cross Will Turner when he looked like that.

Once back on the _Dogfish_, they sailed round the island and back into the hidden passage without being seen by Sparrow's men. They set a course for Tortuga. There was work to do.


	13. The Windward Passage, 1 month later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack shows off his prize to Norrington.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: E

"Sail ho!"

"It's the _Lazarus_, sir, and a ship with black sails."

Norrington gazed through his glass intently. "So it is," he said. "Captain Sparrow has been busy, I see."

"Sir, it looks like the _Black Pearl_!"

"I believe you are correct, Lieutenant," Norrington replied. He glanced at Captain Marshall, who nodded and began giving the necessary orders. They would await Sparrow here. Captain Marshall had asked if they should prepare for battle, on the chance that the reverse was true - that the _Pearl_ had captured the _Lazarus_ \- and that this was in reality Barbossa attempting to catch them off guard. But Norrington shook his head. Both the brig and the ship were flying signals that he recognized as coming from the Spanish documents. Only Sparrow would have known them, and known that Norrington would recognize their meaning.

For some little while Norrington paced the quarterdeck, stopping from time to time to stare at the approaching vessels. So, he thought, Jack had succeeded in capturing the _Black Pearl_, against impressive odds. Norrington was, of course, delighted to have Barbossa accounted for. It was that, he told himself, and nothing more that made his spirits rise as he watched the _Pearl_ bear down on them.

Two hours from the first sighting, a boat from the _Pearl_ drew alongside the _Dauntless_ and Jack came up the side. Norrington was on the main deck to greet him.

"Captain Sparrow," he nodded - his determination to show nothing of what he felt giving him an air of rather distant formality.

Jack swept a bow and smirked. "That's _Commodore_ Sparrow, if you please, sir." He turned and waved in the direction of the _Pearl_ and the _Fury_.

Norrington's eyebrows rose and his mouth thinned. Provoking bastard. "Congratulations appear to be in order," he said, a little stiffly. "That _is_ the _Black Pearl_, is it not?"

"To be sure, it is," Jack grinned.

"And Barbossa?"

"Dead," Jack replied, "along with many of his crew. A few of them escaped, but for the most part they are dead - or soon will be."

Ruthless satisfaction gave Jack's face for a moment a feral cast that took James aback. _Pirate_, he thought.

As if he could read James's mind, Jack grinned, once again all sly mischief. "Would you like to inspect her, Commodore?" he asked.

Common sense told him to refuse, but Jack's eyes were glinting with that now-familiar challenge and he found himself accepting the invitation almost without volition. Damn the man; it was infuriating to be out-maneuvered in such a way.

He spoke as little as possible as they were rowed over to the _Pearl_, merely enough to avoid the appearance of petulance. Jack, he could see, was mightily amused and pleased with himself and James's irritation grew.

Aboard the _Pearl_, Jack gave him a complete tour; they went over her from bowsprit to taffrail. She gleamed with polish and fresh varnish, her rigging was taut and the sails new - James had to admit she was a beauty, if decidedly unconventional.

The crew, James noticed, watched him with a careful lack of expression that spoke volumes. They were not pleased to see him, of this he was sure. They were a motley assortment; some of them looked distinctly piratical, while others gave a more convincing impression of respectability. Jack might call her a privateer, but the _Black Pearl_ was still a pirate vessel, he was certain.

"I must admit, _Captain_ Sparrow," James said at last, "that I am impressed with her condition. Most pirate vessels that I have had occasion to board were slatternly to the point of filth."

"Aye," Jack replied, cocking an eyebrow at James's refusal to call him Commodore, "the _Pearl_ was no better. But we've been working on her for more than a month and she's almost restored to her former condition."

"Her former condition?" James asked. "So you have known this ship in the past?"

Jack nodded, grinned, and said no more. James, annoyed once again, swore silently and vowed to be led no more into gratifying Sparrow's love of being mysterious.

"You will stay to dine, of course, won't you _Commodore_?" Jack asked, gesturing for James to precede him into the great cabin.

"No, I am afraid I must not…" James began. His words cut off abruptly as he was spun around and Jack's mouth closed on his.

Jack backed him into a table and pressed him hard against it, holding his face when he tried to break the kiss.

James took hold of Jack to push him away but found that somehow his arms had gone round him and were gripping his buttocks, pulling him close and rubbing their cocks together. He realized at the same moment that he was sucking Jack's tongue and moaning softly. This was madness. With difficulty he pulled his mouth away from Jack's and said so.

Jack ignored him, nibbling on his throat and murmuring, "I told you there'd be a next time, didn't I, love?" He chuckled. "You should trust me."

James tried again to push Jack away. "Stop it, you lunatic," he said. "Anyone could…"

"Door's locked," Jack grinned.

"And if someone tries the door, what will they think?" James asked.

"That I do not wish to be disturbed and to come back later," Jack shrugged. "Now kiss me."

Suddenly James was angry. This… this _pirate_ made it sound so simple. If you want something, take it. If it brings pleasure, do it. No thought for decency. No _shame_.

Furiously he shoved Jack backward and followed, pushing him again until Jack stumbled and crashed into the hull. James pinned him there with his body, glaring down into snapping eyes that laughed at him still.

"Shameless," James growled and crushed his lips to Jack's.

Jack wriggled encouragingly and hummed his approval as James ravished his mouth. The hum became a moan as James undid Jack's breeches and took hold of his cock in an ungentle grasp.

Stroking hard, James raised his head and watched Jack's face; the mocking eyes were closed but his mouth was open as he panted in time to the movements of James's hand. Jack groaned as James tightened his grip and stroked faster.

"Please," he whimpered, "James, please."

As his cries grew louder, James placed his free hand over Jack's mouth, while with the other he worked him harder and faster still. "Shameless," he snarled again.

Jack's back was arched, tight as a drawn bow, and his voice behind the muffling hand was hoarse and desperate. James's hand had become a blur of motion when Jack gave a last shout, spilling himself in thick spurts as he went limp against the hull.

After a few moments, James removed his hand from Jack's breeches; Jack sighed and opened his eyes. He brought James's hand to his mouth and, holding James's gaze, he slowly licked each finger clean of his seed. Next he ran his tongue in long, slow sweeps across James's palm and knuckles.

At the first touch of Jack's tongue, James gasped. The feel of it curling around his fingers loosened his knees. "Stop," he whispered. "Don't…"

Jack smiled and continued lapping, sleek as a cat in cream. "Always _don't_," he mocked softly, between licks. "Remember what I told you, love. Don't think, _feel_."

"Feel this." He drew James's thumb into his mouth and sucked hard, caressing it with his tongue. James's eyes went wide and Jack let his thumb slip free with another smile. He turned them around and pressed James back against the hull. "Feel this," he said again, and kissed him, nipping to make James open his mouth and slipping his tongue in, flickering and teasing.

James tasted Jack's seed, bitter-salt, on his tongue and shivered. He reached to take Jack's head in his hands but Jack gripped his wrists and forced them down and back until his hands were flat against the planks of the hull.

"You'll want to be holding onto something," Jack whispered against his lips. He slithered down to kneel between James's feet. "When you feel _this_," he said, unbuttoning James's breeches.

James looked down as his cock sprang free. Jack breathed upon it and he groaned, letting his head fall back against the hull with a thud. "Jack," he said, voice breaking.

"Hush, love," Jack murmured. He pressed the flat of his tongue to the underside of James's cock and drew it firmly up and over the head, swirling gently around and down again. "_Feel_."

Indeed, James could do naught else but feel as Jack's mouth closed on his cock. He forgot to breathe as wet heat engulfed his senses. Jack sucked lightly at first, working his way down the shaft and then up, with lips and tongue and a hint of teeth. James groaned again and bucked. Jack stilled him with a hand on his hip and sucked harder, humming softly. His other hand massaged James's balls, then slipped back to press one finger lightly against the tight ring of muscle.

"Oh God," James gasped, and bit his lips in a vain attempt to keep from whimpering. His fingers clawed at the hull, searching frantically for support as his knees buckled.

Jack drove his mouth down again and again, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked. He opened his jaws wider and relaxed his throat as James began to thrust helplessly. Jack looked up, waiting for the moment when James's eyes opened and he looked down. In that instant Jack curled his finger, breaching James to the first knuckle and James shattered with a cry; coming hard into Jack's waiting mouth.

Jack licked James clean and released him as his legs gave way and he slid down to sit on the deck facing Jack. Jack leaned forward and kissed him.

"Trying," James panted, "you're trying to kill me."

Jack chuckled. "Oh, not quite yet, James," he replied. "But there are worse ways to go, eh?"

"I can think of one or two, yes," James said. He pulled Jack around to sit next to him and silence fell, save for the sound of breathing slowly returning to normal.

After a time, James said, "I should go."

Jack stirred and stretched. "Not yet," he replied. "You are to dine with me, remember?"

"I remember declining your invitation," James said, wryly. "But you didn't seem to be listening."

"No more than I am now," Jack grinned, fastening his breeches and getting to his feet. "Come on, put yourself to rights and we'll have some wine while we wait for the food to arrive."

James shook his head without speaking and did as he was told. Jack had poured them some of the Xeres and they sat at the ornate table, sipping and chatting. James asked to know the _Pearl's_ history, but Jack grinned and refused. They talked instead of James's recently concluded operations against the Spanish, which had gone according to plan, to the vast irritation of a number of colonial governors.

Dinner was delicious and, although James would not admit it even to himself, too soon over. When he rose to go Jack took his arm and walked him out to the rail. As the boat was lowered he grinned and said with a bow, "Until next time, Commodore."

James's lips thinned at the veiled taunt and he bowed somewhat coldly. "Captain Sparrow," he replied. As he climbed down and took his place in the boat he heard Jack laugh.

"That's _Commodore_," the mocking voice drifted down to him as the boat pulled away, "Commodore Jack Sparrow."


	14. Port Royal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth makes a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: E.

"Don't forget to be home on time, darling," Elizabeth reminded James over breakfast. "The fancy dress ball at the Simmersons' is tonight."

"Ah, yes," James replied. "What am I to wear again?"

"Oh, surely you remember me talking of it! I've had one of Father's old coats altered to fit you," she said, grinning. "It's of rose brocade with acres of frogging and braid. Horribly out of date, but such a job I had getting it away from him nonetheless! There is an old-fashioned brown wig to go with it. You are to be a country squire - the very image of rustic respectability."

_Respectability_. James winced and sipped his coffee to cover the slip. "Yes, now I remember," he said. "And what shall you wear, my dear?"

Elizabeth's eyes danced. "I shan't tell you," she said. "It's a surprise."

The mischievous look she gave him made her husband chuckle. "Very well then," he smiled, "Keep your secret until this evening." He rose. "We are to dine at home?"

"Yes, and leave for the ball directly afterward," Elizabeth replied.

James went round to her chair and kissed first her hand then her cheek. "If I am to get my work done, I must leave now. There is a deal of business to be got through today."

Elizabeth squeezed his hand. "Until this evening," she smiled.

When James had gone, she sat for some time, drinking her coffee and toying with a piece of toast. She wondered, for the thousandth time, what was troubling him. That something was wrong she was very sure, but she was at a loss to discover what it might be. Her original guess that the Spanish expedition was the cause of his worry had turned out to be incorrect; he had returned from his successful voyage no less troubled in mind than when he had sailed. A thought that the Admiralty was being difficult had occupied her for some days. A colonial governor's daughter, she was very familiar with the vicissitudes of dealing with a government headquartered an ocean away. But some carefully artless questions put to her father had dispelled that notion. James was in good odour with the Navy; indeed, he was marked out for great things.

Well, she told herself, wherever the problem lies, tonight's surprise will stir things up, at any rate. She chewed her lip. It was daring, yes, but not so _very_ bad. After all, it was a private ball. And if it served to remind him of the fun they had had, then her purpose was served. All she wanted was her darling, carefree James back; she wanted it to be as it was when they were first married. To keep herself busy until time to dress, she put on her sunhat and went down to the gardens to cut flowers for the house.  
*********

Late that afternoon, Commodore Norrington realized with vexation that he could not possibly complete the despatch he was working on before dinner. And the courier was to sail at midnight. He could hold the courier, of course, but a cracked foremast had already delayed its sailing for more than a week and he was forced to admit that a fancy-dress ball was hardly sufficient excuse to put off Navy business.

Swearing softly, he wrote rapidly to Elizabeth and sealed it, calling for his aide. "See that delivered to Mrs. Norrington immediately, if you please," he said, handing the man the paper and returning his salute absently, his mind already back on his task.  
*********

Elizabeth unfolded the note and read it quickly. _My dearest Elizabeth,_ James had written, _I find that it is impossible for me to complete my work in time to dine at home after all. I am very sorry for it. Please go to the ball without me and I will join you at the Simmersons' as soon as I can. My apologies, but Navy business must come first. I know you will understand and forgive Your loving husband, James._

Her first reaction was dismay. Indeed she had to laugh at herself for a childish impulse to stamp her foot and pout. But a short period of reflection and a turn or two on the terrace soon put her in a more cheerful frame of mind. Perhaps this was for the best, after all. This way, James would not see her costume until he arrived at the ball, where the surprise would be all the greater. Good humour restored, she hurried upstairs to dress.  
*********

It was nearly ten o'clock when James handed the last part of his completed despatch to the clerks for copying. He gave instructions for the delivery of the original to the courier, and strode out of the office to find that Elizabeth had sent their carriage to wait for him. He considered how late it was and decided not to waste time going all the way home to get his costume. He would go in his uniform, deeming it better to get to the ball as soon as possible. "To the Simmersons'," he ordered the coachman as he climbed in. "And make haste."

A short drive brought him to the elegant townhouse where the ball was in progress. The footman who took his hat offered him a mask, explaining that his hostess had requested that all guests should go masked until midnight. James thanked him and tied the strings in place before he was led to the ballroom at the back of the house.

A wave of sound smote him as he entered the large room; music, laughter, conversation - all blended into a muted roar. Wax candles by the hundreds shed light and heat upon shepherdesses and harlequins, Roman senators and dominoes as they danced in the center of a room full to bursting with revelers.

James edged carefully along the wall, making for the refreshment room. His progress was slow and as he went he scanned the crowd for Elizabeth, wondering how he would know her, when he had no idea what she was wearing.

The music ended and the dance floor emptied, so that for a moment he had a clear view of the far side of the room, where a knot of gentlemen had gathered around something or someone between two of the long windows. They were, to judge by the laughter that drifted to his ears, enjoying themselves immensely. As he watched, the group shifted and opened out to reveal the object of their attention.

A slender figure in a green juste-au-corps, buff breeches and bucket-topped boots stood there, one hand resting lightly on the pommel of the sword that hung from an old-fashioned baldric, the other holding a glass of champagne. The golden brown hair was drawn back into a sailor's pigtail, from which tendrils had escaped to hang in elflocks about the smooth cheeks. A red headscarf and golden hoop earrings added a rakish touch.

Norrington stared. No, he thought, she wouldn't have. She _couldn't_. He took a step forward; another brought him to the edge of the dance floor where he stopped short, unable to go on.

The pirate, who had been listening to one of her admirers, laughed and shook her head, turning away as she did so. She sipped her wine, glancing about the room as if looking for someone, and spotted him. She smiled broadly; and hastily set her glass down. She swaggered forward a pace or two and paused. Drawing herself up, she gave him stare for stare.

The men around her, noting the direction of her gaze, turned and saw Norrington. Some of them began to grin. "By Jove," one of them chuckled, "it looks as if the Navy has sighted our pirate!"

A feeling of unreality had come over Norrington. Despite the fact that his eyes never wavered from hers, he was aware that others were turning to stare. Forcing himself into motion, he walked slowly across the floor. She came to meet him and they stopped, face to face in the center of the room. He saw, with an almost sickening shock, that her eyes behind her mask were lined with kohl.

"Commodore," she said, deepening her voice, as she made him a very elegant leg, "I did not know that the Navy would be attending this night's festivities."

Norrington bowed. "As you see," he replied. He could hear titters and laughter all around them now and he trembled.

"Should I be afraid?" she asked, putting her chin up and smiling.

"Perhaps," he said. The music struck up and he held out his hand. "Will you dance?"

"With pleasure," she replied, placing her fingers delicately upon his as they moved to the head of the set that was forming.

They danced for a time without speaking. Elizabeth watched James's face - what she could see of it below his mask - a little daunted by his set expression. Her costume had been a _succès fou_; everyone had admired her. She had been looking for James's arrival for two hours, eagerly anticipating his reaction to her coup, but now that he was here, her excitement was somewhat damped. She consoled herself with the thought that he was no doubt weary - hungry, perhaps, as well - and therefore disinclined to merriment.

"James," she asked, as the movements of the dance brought them together, "have you dined?"

He looked at her somberly. "No," he replied, "but it is of little matter. I can eat when we return home."

"But that won't be for hours yet," Elizabeth said.

"On the contrary, we will leave as soon as these two dances are finished."

"Before the unmasking?" she cried, "Oh no!"

"Oh yes," James's voice was grim. "Do not argue. We will speak no more of this at present, Elizabeth."

In the carriage, Elizabeth began to be a little scared. James would neither look at her nor speak. He stared out the window silently; the light of the lantern casting deep shadows that made it impossible for her to read his expression.

She preceded him into the drawing room and rang the bell. When Mullins answered, she ordered a light supper to be laid out in the dining room as soon as might be. Mullins bowed and withdrew.

James was leaning on the mantelpiece, his forehead resting on his clenched fist, staring into the empty fireplace.

Elizabeth stood for a few moments, watching him with some trepidation. Her splendid surprise had not gone as expected. James was out of reason cross; far angrier indeed than circumstances could explain.

Her chin rose. He was just being stubbornly stuffy. Perhaps, now that they were alone, she could coax him into a better humour.

"James," she said, "Supper will not be ready for half an hour. Let me take your coat, so that you may be comfortable; it is so very hot this evening." When she would have touched him, he flung up his hand and she stopped in her tracks.

"Thank you," he replied, "but I will do it myself." James unhooked his sword and laid it on a chair; his coat and waistcoat followed. He removed his wig and placed it on the table. Then he turned back to the fireplace; he had not looked at Elizabeth since he entered the room.

Stung by his rebuff, she felt a tiny spurt of anger. Very well, she thought, if that is the way of it. She removed her baldric and threw it onto the chair atop James's coat. Next she shrugged out of her own coat and waistcoat and flung them on to the growing heap.

She walked to a small looking-glass, and surveyed herself, turning this way and that. She toed off her boots and did a few dance steps in her stocking-feet, humming softly. James turned his head just enough to watch her out of the corner of his eye; the sight of her swaying grace as she moved made him catch his breath.

"I was a great success, you know," she said over her shoulder. "No-one was scandalized in the least and I received a great many compliments."

Once more she stood in front of the glass; she raised her arms and turned round on one heel. Her eyes cut toward him for an instant and he saw her lips quirk. Turning back to the glass and leaning forward with one knee on the bench, she inspected her face with great care. In this pose, the fabric of her breeches tightened across her hips and thighs. James's mouth went dry; he saw her smile grow. Deliberately, she stretched further, hollowing her back.

"Eliz..." He cleared his throat and tried again. "Elizabeth, that is quite enough. Stop flaunting yourself. Go upstairs at once and change your clothes."

She did not move, save to turn her head. "Why should I?"

"Please do as I ask." James looked away and swallowed.

"Why, James?" Elizabeth left the looking-glass and stood beside him. He could smell her perfume and the champagne on her breath as she moved nearer. "What do you find so distasteful about my appearance?" she asked. Once more she raised her arms and turned on her heel.

"Do not do this, Elizabeth." His voice shook; he hated himself for it.

She stopped twirling and took a half step closer. "You liked me well enough in breeches before," she murmured, looking up at him sidelong. The heat of her body licked along his skin like flame.

"Elizabeth." Goaded, he bit off each word, trembling with the effort of containing himself. "Go upstairs. Now."

"Why?" she whispered, pressing herself against him and raising her mouth to his. "Can't you love a pirate?"

"_Enough_!" he snarled as his control snapped at last, swept away in that instant. He grabbed her wrist and yanked her after him to the door. "You _will_ do as I say, Elizabeth."

He dragged her across the hall and up the stairs; she was too astonished to resist.

"I will be obeyed in my own house," James said, pulling her into their room and closing the door. He spun her around and slammed her back against the panels so hard the door rattled in its frame. He released her wrist to take her head in both hands.

"Shameless," he growled and brought his mouth down on hers like a blow.

Elizabeth whimpered and struggled but he controlled her with ease, pinning her and shoving his knee between her thighs. Her mouth opened to him and he forced it wider, invading and taking. He pressed upward with his leg and her whimper became a moan; she rocked her hips against him.

James raised his head and looked down at her. She gazed back, trembling, eyes wide and lips parted. He dragged his thumbs roughly across her eyelids, wiping away the kohl. He kissed her again, biting her lips; twisted his hand in her hair, forcing her head back and bit at her throat, all the time pressing hard with his leg between hers.

"James," Elizabeth whispered.

"Silence," James said, "Do not speak." He stood back and she nearly fell.

"Remove those breeches," he ordered.

Elizabeth nodded and turned away, unbuttoning with shaking hands and letting the breeches fall. She stepped out of them and her stockings and would have turned to face him but he clasped his arm about her waist and snugged her back against him.

James caressed her breasts through the fine linen of her shirt, cupping and pinching; she arched against his chest with a gasp. He slid his hand downward and probed between her legs, stroking her until she writhed and whimpered, grinding herself against his aching cock through his breeches. Suddenly she stiffened, cried out and sagged in his grasp.

He forced her toward the bed and obliged her to climb up onto it, but when she would have lain down he stopped her.

"On your hands and knees," he said, stripping off his breeches and climbing up behind her.

Blushing and trembling, she did as she was told. James shoved her knees apart and took his place between her spread thighs. Steadying her with his hands upon her hips, he entered her, driving deep and making her cry out. He groaned as he sank into searing heat that threatened to undo him.

He leaned forward, wrapped one arm around her waist and held her tight. His other hand tangled in her hair; pulling her head up and arching her back. His teeth closed on her shoulder.

James set a punishing pace, thrusting hard and fast; his hips slamming into hers as he buried himself in her body over and over.

Elizabeth was whimpering and twisting in his grasp; she would have collapsed had he not prevented her. He slipped his hand from her waist down over her belly to stroke her once more. In moments she wailed, her body convulsing around his cock.

With a hoarse shout he thrust one time, and again, and spilled his seed into her.

As the last spasm spent itself he fell forward, crushing her to the mattress beneath him. He rolled onto his back and lay panting. Elizabeth moved close and laid her head upon his shoulder with a sigh; his arm went round her. She shuddered as little shocks of pleasure thrilled along her nerves. She closed her eyes and dropped suddenly into sleep.

*************  
Elizabeth opened her eyes to sunlight; it was late and James's side of the bed was empty. Listening for a moment, she heard no sound from his dressing room, the door to which stood ajar; he must have risen some time ago, then. She blinked and stretched; moving her limbs and arching her back with a luxurious thoroughness almost feline. Indeed she felt as sleek and contented as a cat this morning, notwithstanding little aches and sorenesses here and there. She blushed as the feel of them brought the previous night to her mind with vivid clarity.

It was pointless to deny that at first she had been frightened - James had been so very angry! When he dragged her up the stairs she had thought for a moment that he intended to beat her. But then he had kissed her - what a kiss it was; she laid her fingers against her lips and smiled - and fear had been swept away by her rising excitement. It is very pleasant, she decided, to be ravished by one's own husband.

She'd hoped to raise a little breeze with her dashing prank, but it seemed she had conjured a hurricane instead. The force of it had left her awed and half-stunned, but no longer frightened in the least.

James's violent passion had shown her another face of the man she had thought she knew so very well. There had been nothing of the gentleman about him last night. She realized that she had been vouchsafed a glimpse behind the mask of civilization into something wild and primitive that lay - so the philosophers and the church said - in the heart of everyone. _This_ was the source of the power that made James so formidable a man. It was _this_ that had made him Commodore at the absurdly young age of thirty - this, and the strength of his remarkable character, that kept such redoubtable energies in check and directed them into suitable channels. Except, she amended, when he was goaded to the point where he snapped.

She pressed her fingers once again to her mouth and tongued the tender place where her lip had been knocked against her teeth. A glance at her wrist showed four parallel bruises - startlingly dark against her pale skin - the prints of his fingers. She smiled. Turning her head, she could just see the marks of his teeth on her shoulder; she ran her fingers across them, pressing down and shivering deliciously as the slight ache brought back the sound of his voice - half growl, half moan - as he'd made those marks. She rolled over to lie on her stomach, eyes nearly closed, and _remembered_.

His chest against her back, his breath hot against her throat as it strained upward, pulled taut by his hand in her hair - she stirred restlessly and sighed. He had never entered her - _taken_ her - from behind like that before and the difference in sensation was astonishing. Each time he plunged into her, she had felt a rush of intense pleasure, building excruciatingly, stroke upon stroke, until she thought she would go mad with it. The relief of climax had seemed unattainable - until he had moved his hand and begun to touch her _there_.

Greatly daring, she touched herself, probing that place between her legs and stroking the delicate flesh the way _he_ had, the way… "James," she whimpered, "oh, James." She closed her eyes and abandoned herself to the intoxicating memory, letting it guide her hand. Faster and faster she moved as she buried her face in the pillow to stifle the whimpers and gasping cries she could no longer control. She imagined him once again over her, _inside_ her, thrilling and relentless - and her release overtook her so suddenly that she had not even time to cry out. Her back arched, vibrating for a timeless moment of ecstasy, and, just as suddenly, she went limp - undone and overcome. She gave a great sigh and lay for some time motionless, eyes closed, drifting between sleep and waking, utterly content.

James, standing frozen behind the door of his dressing room, clenched his fists and bowed his head. When Elizabeth had said his name he had almost gone into the bedroom, but, too soon, the moment was lost. He heard the whimpering cries and knew she was weeping. His heart smote him - he was vile to have frightened her so.

He'd slipped out of their bed in the night, eaten up with shame and unable to bear the way she snuggled against him in her sleep. He did not deserve that mark of her trust; he felt it would be taking advantage of her to stay, for, surely, once she awoke and remembered what he had done, she would turn from him in disgust.

For an hour he had paced his dressing room, berating himself in the harshest terms for his unforgivable behaviour. To have lost his temper with a woman - his _wife_ \- was bad enough, had that been the sum of his failure. But to have used her so, to have given way to the turmoil in his breast and to have taken out his confusion and anger on her was the act of a brute beast. He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. Surely he had ruined the most precious thing in his life this night, for how could she continue to love him now that he had shown himself to be such an animal?

He had thrown himself down on his couch but could not sleep. At daybreak he had risen again and donned his clothes silently. Once dressed, he had resumed his pacing. He longed to go to her, to beg her forgiveness, but he dared not and cursed himself for a coward. A dozen times he had put his hand to the bedroom door and stopped again, shaken by doubt. What if she shrank from him? How could he bear it?

It was in the midst of this agony of indecision that he heard her stirring. He had stood without moving, scarce daring to breathe, as she called his name and - so he thought - wept. When she fell silent he turned and, noiselessly opening the door into the corridor, had gone downstairs and out of the house.  
**********

A short time later, Elizabeth lay thinking. Her conscience was bothering her. Notwithstanding the undeniably delightful consequences, she felt she had perhaps gone a bit too far last night in provoking James's anger. She had known how strongly he would disapprove of her going out into society wearing breeches, for he had never left her in any doubt of his feelings on the subject. Yet she had not only done so, but had allowed him to be confronted with her defiance in the most public fashion imaginable. It was ill done to have played him such a trick - she saw that now. And to compound her misdeed by continuing to defy him and by taunting him once they had returned home was the act of a thoughtless child.

For as long as she had known him, Elizabeth had been piqued by James's deep sense of propriety, and it had been her self-imposed mission for nearly that long to loosen his laces, metaphorically speaking. He had always borne her jests and provocations with good-nature and, for the most part, with equanimity. Now that she had seen the… _volcanic_ essence of his nature, as it were, she marveled at his forbearance. All this time she had been poking at a sleeping tiger with a stick, so to speak, and, if he had finally turned on her in anger, she had no-one to blame save herself.

Even last night, she saw, he had been riding his baser self on a tight rein, for he could have done much worse than make violent love to her. A lesser man _would_ have beaten her.

Elizabeth blushed with shame. She owed him an apology and the sooner it was delivered the better. Hopping out of bed, she rang for her maid to come dress her hair and set about choosing her most becoming morning-gown. She would spare no pains to make it up to him for she understood that she was an exceedingly fortunate woman, to have such a man for her husband. Knowing herself to be embarked on the proper course of action eased her embarrassment somewhat and she began to sing under her breath as she dressed. Soon, all would be well.

Entering the breakfast parlor half an hour later, her zeal for amendment suffered its first check, for James was not there. An enquiry directed to Mullins, when he came in with fresh toast, elicited the information that 'the Commodore had left for the Fort more than an hour ago' and was not expected back until dinnertime.

"Ah," she said, recovering her countenance and smiling at the butler, "of course. I should have realized it would be so. He was up betimes." She sipped her coffee and brightened as an idea occurred to her.

"Mullins, send word to the stables, if you please, to have Sprite brought round in an hour's time. I think I shall ride to the Fort this morning."

"Very good, ma'am," Mullins replied, bowing.

Elizabeth sang as again as she tripped upstairs to shed the pretty morning gown and don her riding habit. She pictured how it would be. She would surprise James at his desk and persuade him to walk with her on the battlements. They would pause at the spot where he had proposed to her, as they always did, and she would apologize to him there. And then, he would smile that sweet smile that made her heart flutter so, and they would kiss, and all would be very well indeed. Singing still, she hurried back down the stairs and out into the brilliant sunshine.  
*********

But at the Fort further disappointment awaited her, for James had gone aboard the _Dauntless_ and was beyond her reach for the time being. She thought a moment and then requested pen and paper. The clerk showed her into James's office and she sat at his desk.

_Dear James,_ she wrote, _I am sorry to have missed you. As I know you are very full of business, it is in my mind to spare you the drive home today. We dine at the Martins', if you remember. I shall come with the carriage in time to ride with you to their house. Until then, Fondly, Elizabeth._

Sealing the note with a wafer, she gave it to the clerk and received his assurance that it would be delivered to the Commodore as soon as he returned to the Fort.

As she rode back through the gates, Sprite danced a little under her and nickered - very fresh after several days' rest. Why not, Elizabeth thought, it will make the time pass until dinner. Accordingly, they rode past the harbour and out onto the long beach beyond, where she gave the mare her head and they galloped for more than a mile before pulling up to wait for the groom on his cob.

They rode on along the shore, all around the bay and into Kingston. There she fell in with her friends the Graysons - a widower and his grown children, a son and two daughters - just come down from their plantation and bound for Port Royal. Their intention was to go across by water and they invited Elizabeth to join them. She accepted with pleasure, eager by this time for company to distract her from her thoughts. After a light luncheon at the Rose and Crown, Elizabeth arranged with the groom to return with the horses by the way they had come and she embarked with her friends. It was a beautiful day and they were very merry - tossing bits of bread to the gulls and laughing at the antics this provoked - and for a time Elizabeth forgot her worry.

Once ashore the Graysons had insisted upon her coming home with them for tea. She arrived at her own door, in their carriage, pleasantly tired and a little sunburnt, just in time to dress for dinner.  
*******

On her way to the Fort, Elizabeth rehearsed in her mind what she would say to James. The Martins lived on the outskirts of Port Royal and so she would have him to herself for some little time on the drive there; she intended to make good use of her opportunity. The carriage clattered through the gate and wheeled neatly round to pull up at the foot of the steps leading to the offices - punctual to the minute, as she knew James preferred. She leaned forward and clasped her hands tightly as James came down, accompanied by Captain Marshall of the _Dauntless_.

"Mrs. Norrington," Marshall said, bowing, "a delight, as always."

"How do you do, Captain," Elizabeth replied with a smile before turning to James, but he was not looking at her.

"My dear," James said, opening the carriage door, "the Captain is to make one of the party this evening and I have offered him a seat in our carriage." He gestured for Marshall to precede him up the steps.

As the two men took their seats, Elizabeth smiled brightly, to hide her mortification. James, it was clear, wished to avoid being private with her; her eyes stung. She prayed that her blush was not apparent in the uncertain light of the lanterns. "Of course," she said. "It will be a… pleasure, Captain Marshall."

As they rode, Elizabeth made polite conversation with the ease of long practice but with less than her full attention. She told herself not to make too much of this; perhaps Captain Marshall had asked to accompany them and James had not wished to appear churlish by refusing. Perhaps it was no more than that. Perhaps - or perhaps not.

Once they arrived at the Martins' they would be in company for the evening, with no possibility of private speech. Elizabeth was forced to put off her apology yet again. She smiled at a jest of Captain Marshall's and wished the evening over.

Dinner was a prolonged affair, with many courses, for Mrs. Martin, an anxious woman, always tried just a bit too hard to impress. Elizabeth chatted with her dinner companions, watched her husband - far down on the other side of the table - do the same, and tried not to fidget. No one, to her intense relief, mentioned the previous night's ball.

In the carriage once again, and homeward bound, Elizabeth listened to Captain Marshall tell of a surprise inspection scheduled for that evening on the _Dauntless_. It appeared that some of the crew had begun inviting 'lady friends' to share their quarters while in port. They could not be caught during the day, but a nighttime inspection would do the trick, the Captain said. He chuckled. "They're clever devils, but we'll outsmart them this time, eh, Commodore?"

James smiled and agreed.

Dismayed, Elizabeth turned to James. "Will you be taking part in this inspection?" she asked.

"I must, I'm afraid," he replied. "This is becoming a serious problem and it must be addressed without further delay."

"We won't keep him from you any longer than necessary, Mrs. Norrington," Captain Marshall assured her, smiling kindly.

"I am sure you won't, Captain," she replied a little stiffly. Chagrined, it seemed to her that the Navy - in the jovial person of Captain Marshall - was conspiring to keep her apart from James. She would have liked to throw something - something that would make a satisfying crash.

Just then they drew up at the house. James descended and handed her out of the carriage and walked her to the door, opened at that moment by Mullins. He kissed her hand and released it. "Do not wait up for me, Elizabeth," he said in a low voice. "I fear Captain Marshall is too sanguine. It may be some hours before I return."

She nodded silently. Her throat was suddenly tight and she feared she would weep if she attempted to speak. James strode back to the carriage and climbed in. Elizabeth watched it roll away into the night, turned, and went into the house.  
***********

Once upstairs, she pulled a chair round to face the long windows, where the rising moon spilled silver light between the parted drapes and across the rich Turkey carpet that had been a wedding gift from her cousin the earl. She took up a book but did not read. Instead she sat for some time gazing out at the night, the book forgotten on her lap.

James was avoiding her deliberately. What if he was too angry to forgive her? She shivered, although the night air was warm. What if she had stepped too far over the line to go back? She bit her lip. Oh, surely not. Surely, if she could but talk to him, show him that she understood - at last - how deeply she had offended; if she could but apologize… Elizabeth closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, struggling against tears.

For a few minutes there was no sound in the room save the ticking of the hall clock and the night noises coming in at the window. At last, Elizabeth put down her unopened book and rose. She shook out her skirts, giving herself a mental shake at the same time.

Don't be ridiculous, she told herself sternly, you are making far too much of this. James loves you as you love him and this is merely a bump in the road that will soon be put right.

She rang for her maid and set about getting ready for bed. She would not wait up; when James returned he would find that she had done as he asked. She smiled. She would show him what a biddable wife she could be.

But going to bed, Elizabeth found, as she lay listening to the clock chime, was a far different thing than going to sleep. Two… and a quarter… half-past… three quarters.

At three o'clock, she heard a step in James's dressing room. Her heart leapt; he was home at last. She lay still, scarcely breathing as she listened to him move about. Soon, he would come in and find her still awake…

In the dim glow of the night light, she watched the door with almost painful intensity. When it moved, however, it did not swing wide; very slowly, it was drawn closed. The snick of the latch, nearly noiseless, rang in her ears like a cannon shot. Immediately thereafter she heard the creak as a body lay down upon the bed in the dressing room, then silence.

I will _not_ cry, she thought, fiercely willing it to be so; I will _not_. She knew she would appear pathetic with her eyes swollen from weeping and her cheeks blotched, and she was determined to look her best at breakfast. For at breakfast she would, once and for all, force James to listen to her. He would hear her; he must, he _must_.  
*********

Very early next morning, Elizabeth was putting the finishing touches to her toilette and rehearsing yet once more what she intended to say, when she heard a loud pounding upon the front door and a voice crying "Commodore Norrington! A message from Captain Groves for Commodore Norrington!"

By the time she hurried downstairs, the messenger had been admitted and was standing in the hall, watching with anxious expression as James read the despatch he had brought. Mullins could be seen through the open front door, giving the reins of a lathered horse to the stable boy who just now had come running.

"James, what is it?" Elizabeth asked, crossing to stand near her husband.

"The _Relentless_ is sunk," James said, still reading. "Lost to a pirate fleet off Grand Cayman."

"Oh, good God!" cried Elizabeth. "The men?"

"All gone save a dozen Groves was able to pull from the water under fire," James replied.

"Captain Gillette?" she asked, without much hope.

James shook his head. "Lost," he replied. Elizabeth gasped.

James read further. "The _Lord Weldon_ is dismasted," he told her, "But as of this writing was still afloat. Groves managed to get her safe under the guns of Fort George and is helping to hold the attackers off George Town." He turned to the messenger.

"How long ago did this arrive?"

"Not half an hour, sir. The instant the courier come in, Captain Marshall sent me to you, with instructions to make all speed."

"Well done." James nodded. "Return to the Fort. Tell Marshall I want a full staff meeting as soon as possible. And hold the courier until I come; I wish to question him myself."

"Aye, sir." The man saluted and hurried out onto the sweep. He leapt into the saddle and was gone in a shower of gravel kicked up as his horse felt the spur and bounded forward.

James had meanwhile retrieved his coat from the breakfast parlor and was shrugging into it, with Mullins's help.

"Elizabeth," he said, as he belted on his sword, "please make my excuses to your father about dinner this evening."

"Of course," she said. She took a step toward him and stopped again. "When will you sail?"

"No later than tomorrow morning; sooner if we can manage it," James replied, accepting his hat from Mullins. The stable boy ran up, leading James's bay gelding. "I will send you word as soon as I know."

He took her hand and kissed it. She held tight to his fingers but he gently disengaged them from her grasp and bowed, turning and striding out to his horse without a backward glance. It had been a bare five minutes since the knock upon the door.

Elizabeth stood for a moment, staring blankly at the front door. The _Relentless_ was lost - Captain Gillette and nearly all his men, gone. Her mind seemed numb and sluggish from the shock of the news. It was a heavy blow to the Navy and to Port Royal. And Captain Groves in danger as well, if not already captured or killed. She put a hand to her head and swayed.

Mullins appeared at her elbow. "Miss Elizabeth," he said, reverting in his distress to the days when he was a footman in her father's house, "Miss Elizabeth, come into the breakfast parlor and sit down. You look faint. Let me pour you some tea."

She accepted the cup with a word of thanks. A pirate fleet, James had said. This was terrible news - pirates were dangerous enough singly, but if they had banded together... And James was to sail out to fight them. Her hand shook and she set the cup down hastily.

Mullins was watching her anxiously. She straightened in her chair and drew a calming breath, smiling for his benefit. "I am well, Mullins, thank you," she said, "It was just a momentary dizziness. It is passed off now."

She took another sip of tea and helped herself to a slice of toast, which she crumbled absently. Now that the initial shock was past, she had begun to think. It was not the time to give way - as the Commodore's wife she felt she must set an example and remain calm in this crisis. She thought of poor Mary Groves, just recovered from her first lying-in, and knew what she would do.

"Mullins, have the carriage sent round in half an hour, if you please. I shall be calling on Mrs. Groves."

Elizabeth made herself drink a cup of tea and eat a little bit of ham and some scrambled eggs. This would be a long day and she would need her strength. Then she went upstairs to put on her hat. At the sound of the carriage coming up from the stables she came downstairs to be met in the hall by the butler, who was looking grave.

"Yes, Mullins, what is it?"

"It's Cook," he explained, "Her niece's young man was a Relentless."

"Oh dear," Elizabeth exclaimed, "I had better see her."

In the kitchen, she found Cook, red-eyed, kneading dough and trying to sing a hymn, although in a rather watery voice. She bobbed a curtsey as Elizabeth entered. "Terrible news, madam," she said, dusting the flour off her hands. "When Mullins here told me I was like to have fainted dead away."

"Very terrible," Elizabeth agreed. "I understand your niece had someone on the _Relentless_?”

"She did," Cook replied. "Geoffrey Adams - as likely a young man as I've ever seen." Her eyes filled with tears. "They were to have wed next time he come ashore on leave."

"I am so very sorry," Elizabeth said. She looked around and pulled forward a kitchen chair. "Please, sit down. This is your sister's eldest daughter?"

"Yes, thank you, madam," Cook replied, sitting heavily and sniffling. "Jennie. Widowed before ever she was a wife."

"Now, now, Mistress Ames," Elizabeth said, placing her hand on the woman's shoulder. "We do not know that for certain. There is a report that some survived, perhaps we will find that he is among those lucky ones."

"The worst of it," Cook said dolefully, lowering her voice and turning slightly, as if to shield her words from the ears of the scullion and the maid, hovering just inside the scullery doorway. "They didn't wait for Parson's blessing."

"Oh," said Elizabeth. "_Oh_! Then we must pray harder still that Geoffrey survived. Do not lose hope, Mistress Ames. Think of your niece; you must be strong, for her sake."

Cook gave another mighty sniff and wiped her eyes on her apron. "You're right, madam," she replied. "I mustn't mourn 'im 'til we're sure he's gone. It's just that the news, coming all sudden like, overset my nerves, as you might say. Ever since I lost Ames in the hurricane, nigh on twenty year back, I've been dead against any of my girls setting their hearts on sailor lads. But Jennie is that headstrong - and now look what's come of it."

"Perhaps nothing has come of it; we must hope." Elizabeth gave her another bracing pat and moved to the door. "If any news comes of Geoffrey," she said, "I will see to it that you know it as soon as possible."

"Bless your kind heart, madam," Cook cried.

Elizabeth smiled at them all and hurried out to the waiting carriage. So it must be all over Port Royal this morning, she thought; bad news spreading like rings on a pond when a rock has been tossed in the water. She sighed and told the coachman to take her to the Groves's house.  
***********

It was far too early for morning callers, if this were an ordinary day, but the Groves's maid admitted Elizabeth without delay, saying that 'madam was in her dressing room and would Mrs. Norrington please to go up to her.' Elizabeth almost ran up the stairs and burst into the room, barely waiting for her knock to be answered.

"Oh Bess, I am so glad you have come," cried Mrs. Groves, flying across the room. "I have been longing for you." They embraced and Elizabeth felt her friend trembling.

She and Mary Groves had been much thrown together since the latter had arrived from England a year ago, newly wed and a stranger to Port Royal. Their husbands were good friends and the four dined together often. It was fortunate therefore that the two women had come by swift degrees to love one another almost as sisters, despite being, to the casual observer, nearly opposites in temperament. Mary was as calm and mild as Elizabeth was lively, but there was steel in Mrs. Groves that matched Elizabeth's, for all that it lay hidden.

They clung together for a moment longer and then Mary took a deep breath and leaned back. "There," she said, trying to smile. "I am better now. It was just the shock of being wakened with such news." She took Elizabeth's hand and led her to the sofa.

"Oh yes, that I can well believe," Elizabeth replied, sitting down and removing her hat. "I was dressed, but only just, when the messenger came thundering upon our door. James read the news standing in the hall and dashed off to the Fort in an instant. It was terrible."

Mary sat down next to her and they clasped hands again; each drawing comfort from the contact. They sat in silence for a time and then Mary shook her head.

"I find I cannot quite take it in," she said. The _Relentless_ is gone. And even now, perhaps, Theo…" She broke off.

"He is well, Mary," Elizabeth hastened to reassure her. "He is safe under the guns of Fort George."

"Yes," Mary replied, "I must believe that, mustn't I? I must have faith."

"Indeed you must," exclaimed her friend. "For you know that James thinks him the cleverest seaman and canniest fighter of any in Port Royal. And very soon the entire Jamaica squadron will be on their way to relieve him."

After another silence, Elizabeth asked Mary if she had breakfasted. Mary shook her head. "Well you should," Elizabeth said, getting up and ringing the bell. "It won't do for you to starve yourself, you know. It's not only you who would suffer - think of Baby."

Mary smiled. "You're right, dear friend, as ever," she replied. "Always so sensible."

Elizabeth was startled into a laugh. "Sensible? I?" she said, "You have confused me with someone else. Or perhaps…"

Mary looked up. "Perhaps?"

"You're drunk." Elizabeth grinned and Mary burst into giggles. It wasn't the funniest jest ever made, to be sure, but it served. The two were still laughing when the maid came in and Mary ordered breakfast brought up.

"For two," she added, looking significantly at Elizabeth. "For, unless I mistake my guess you have eaten little more than I this day."

Elizabeth put up her chin. "Not true. I had a bite of ham, _two_ bites of egg and half a cup of tea. So there."

Mary raised an eyebrow and repeated, "Breakfast for two, Bridget."

While they waited for breakfast they peeked into the nursery, but the baby was asleep and the nurse shooed them out lest they wake him.

Over their meal, the two friends worked out how long it might take the rescuers to reach Grand Cayman and rout the pirates. And then how long before news would reach them. It seemed a very long time, but, as Mary reminded Elizabeth, the actual rescue would be effected in half that number of days.

"It's not so _very_ long," she said hopefully. "They will be there in four or five days. Surely Fort George and the _Lord Weldon_ combined can last that long against a rabble of pirates!"

Elizabeth, whatever her own apprehensions, encouraged Mary in this hopeful strain.

They spent the morning together, talking of books and gardening, and carefully avoiding the topic at the forefront of their minds, each believing that no good could come of dwelling on their fears. Toward noon, Nurse brought the baby in to be fed. Once this was accomplished, Elizabeth saw mother and child settled for a nap and she took her leave, promising to call every day.

On the way home, Elizabeth thought of the charming picture Mary and her tiny son made. At least, she thought, if the worst happens, Mary has her baby to comfort her. For the first time, Elizabeth longed for a child of her own. Until now, she had always been happy each month to find that she had not conceived. There is plenty of time, she had always said. We will have children - later. Her eyes filled with tears. What if… She gulped back a sob. What if she had missed her chance, what if there would be no "later"?

"Elizabeth Norrington, stop being such a ninny!" she told herself severely. "Stop it this instant! You know better than to borrow trouble. Where is your backbone?" She lectured herself in this vein for some time. And, when the carriage pulled up at her door, she was dry-eyed and able to smile at Mullins as she asked if there was word yet from the Fort.

There was not, but she hadn't expected to hear from James so soon. She went composedly upstairs, changed into an old gown and went out into the garden to spend the afternoon gathering lavender, rosemary, hyssop and thyme for the stillroom.  
***************

"Governor Swann, to see you, sir."

James looked up. "Show him in." He rose to greet his visitor.

Swann came forward with his hand held out. "A bad business, this of the _Relentless_, James," he said, as the clerk left, closing the door behind him.

"It is, sir," James replied, shaking his father-in-law's hand and waving him to a chair. "The pirates have laid siege to George Town, but the garrison combined with the guns of the _Lord Weldon_ had succeeded in holding them off when Groves sent the courier."

"Do you think they can last until relieved?" Swann asked.

"With reasonable luck, I believe they may," James nodded. "Livingston is in charge at Fort George; he's capable for all that he's young. And Groves, of course, is one of our best. Yes, there is hope still."

"I am glad of it," the Governor said. "What forces are you sending - or, should I say, _taking_ with you?"

James acknowledged the distinction with a slight smile. "The _Dauntless_, of course; the _Forester_ and the _Mercury_ as well. But," he continued, answering the unasked question, "we do not leave Port Royal undefended. A detachment of Marines under Lieutenant McCartney will man the fort and the frigates _Dragonfly_ and _Sylph_ can muster nearly 40 guns between them."

"That is well, then," Swann replied, looking somewhat more comfortable. "The _Dragonfly_; isn't she the Spanish one taken by that privateer - Sparrow, I think his name is?"

"Yes," James said, a little shortly, looking uncomfortable for a moment. "He sold her to the Navy for a very fair price; she is a welcome addition to the fleet."

Mistaking the reason for his son-in-law's unease, Swann chuckled. "I know you disapprove of privateers on principle, James," he said, smiling, "But you must concede that they have their uses."

James coughed noncommittally and was spared the necessity of answering by the clerk, who came in at that moment with a stack of orders for his signature. When the clerk had gone away again, James set aside his pen and folded his hands before him on the desk.

"Governor, the action upon which we are about to embark carries a larger than usual element of risk," he said. "This is the first time in many years that the pirates have organized themselves in order to act in concert. Groves informs us that there are four ships in their fleet, all heavily armed, and that their commander - whoever he may be - is a very able one." Swann nodded, his face grave, and James continued, choosing his words carefully.

"While I have no doubt that we will prevail against them, it is likely that our losses - already considerable - will increase significantly." He paused and looked down at his hands for a moment.

"That being so," he continued, meeting Swann's eye, "It is a comfort to me to know that Elizabeth has her father nearby, in case…" He stopped. "I mean, in the event that…"

"Now, now, James my boy," Swann interrupted, leaning forward and placing his hand over James's. His tone was bluff, but the bleak expression in James's eyes chilled him. "Let's not anticipate, eh? You have the name - well-deserved, I might add - of a lucky man, not to mention your skill in battle, which has carried you far already. Let us trust that Fortune will see you through this, as she has before. Now is no time to begin second-guessing Lady Luck!"

James shook his head with a tiny smile.

"It need not be said," Swann continued, "That I shall take every care of Elizabeth, should the need arise, but it shall _not_ arise any time soon. So let us have no more of this gloom and doom, eh? As I have always told my daughter, so I shall tell you: Do not borrow trouble."

James's smile widened. "Good advice, sir," he said. "I shall endeavour to follow it exactly."

"See that you do," Swann smiled, pressing James's hand once more before rising and reaching for his hat. "And now I shall leave you, for I imagine you have better things to do than to sit here making polite conversation with an old fool. When do you sail?"

"First thing tomorrow," James said, walking the Governor to the door.

"Best of luck to you," Swann said, holding out his hand, which James took with a smile. "Godspeed, my son."

"Thank you, sir," James replied.

Alone again, James spent a few minutes gazing down at the harbour, watching the frantic yet orderly activity as the ships were readied and the troops boarded. Swann was right, he should not borrow trouble. Doubts and fears - all distractions indeed - must be left behind; his mind must be clear for this battle.

Then, in defiance of his own will and Swann's good advice, his thoughts turned to Elizabeth. She had not shrunk from him when they met, true, but what was she thinking? He could not tell. He remembered listening to her weep the morning before and sighed. Her breeding and her pride had enabled her to meet him - in company - with complaisance, and even the appearance of affection, but he dared not presume upon this, nor draw hope from it. Would she have forgiven him, if he'd dared to ask? Too late now to find out. If - no, _when_ he corrected himself - he returned from George Town…

A knock upon the door interrupted his musings and he returned to the enormous task of readying his fleet to sail with renewed concentration, banishing his personal troubles from his mind for the time being.  
********

On his way back to his residence, Governor Swann bade his coachman stop at the Norringtons'. Mullins, who answered the door, informed him that Elizabeth was in the garden and offered to send someone to fetch her.

"No, do not trouble yourself," Swann had said. "I will go to her there."

He went onto the terrace and stood for a few moments looking out over the tops of the trees to the ocean far below. The harbour was hidden from here, but the bay beyond was a dazzling blue sweep, out to Portland Head and the sea beyond. The terrace was the perfect place from which to observe the traffic into and out of Port Royal. He thought he could guess where his daughter would be spending much of her time in the coming days.

Lowering his gaze, he searched the garden laid out on the hillside below him until he found Elizabeth, trug in hand, stooping to cut lavender flowers from a thick hedge of it that lined the path for some distance.

She looked up as he approached; her face was deep in the shadow cast by her sun hat and her expression unreadable. "Father," she exclaimed. "You shouldn't have to come seeking me, why didn't they send…"

Swann took her hands and kissed her. "Don't blame Mullins, my dear. He would have installed me in the drawing room very properly and brought you in to me, but I wouldn't hear of it." He tucked her hand in his arm and began to walk with her toward the bougainvillea arbor at one edge of the plantings.

"It's much more pleasant out here," he said. "You have done a wonderful job with this garden, Elizabeth."

"Thank you, Father," Elizabeth replied. "James… James and I have enjoyed planning it very much."

Swann noted the hesitation, but did not question her. They reached the arbor and sat down in its shade on a bench placed to command a view of the lower garden and the bay beyond.

"I have just come from the Fort," he said. "James tells me they will sail very early tomorrow. He will doubtless be at work all night, seeing to the preparations."

Elizabeth nodded without speaking.

"That being the case," her father went on, "I wish you, at least, to dine with me tonight. Tut, tut." He held up a finger when she would have objected. "It is not well to be too much alone at a time like this, daughter; you will fret yourself into a fever of worry. Now, I won't take no for an answer. You can leave instructions to forward any message - you won't be the loser by obliging me."

Elizabeth leaned her head against her father's arm and sighed. "You are right, Father, of course." They sat in silence for a few moments. "Very well," she said at last, "I will come - to please you."

Swann patted her hand. "That's my brave girl," he said, kissing her temple. "Now, walk me to my carriage, if you would - I noticed a rather extraordinary thicket of cannas near the sweep and I wish you to tell how you've got them to grow up so quickly. Mine do not flourish."

Later that evening, returned from Government House, Elizabeth sat once again under the bougainvillea and looked out over the bay in the moonlight. The vine shielded her from the night breeze and her shawl protected her from the damp.

She thought of James, doubtless still hard at work at the Fort or even aboard the _Dauntless_ already. Soon now, in just a few hours, he would sail out of the harbour and down the bay. She longed to see him, to touch him, before he went, but she knew it was impossible. She sighed, too worn down by the tumult of the day even to cry.

_When_ \- she stressed the word with great care - he came back, they would resolve this foolish misunderstanding and life would go on as before. She clasped her hands tightly together and closed her eyes.

"Keep him safe," she prayed, "Bring him home to me."

The night was far spent when she at last went into the house and lay down upon their bed, still dressed, to lie awake until dawn.  
*********

Not long after sunrise, Elizabeth was in the drawing room, pacing. She had risen a few minutes before - after dozing for barely an hour - put on a fresh gown and come downstairs - unable to stay still for more than a few moments.

She was startled by the sound of a carriage pulling up in front of the house. Peeking out the window, she recognized her father's coach at the same moment she heard a knock upon the door. She hurried into the hall, just as Mullins - his wig askew and his waistcoat unbuttoned - opened the door and her father stepped into the house.

"Father," Elizabeth flew to him. "What is it? What is wrong? James…"

Swann took her hands in a steadying clasp. "Nothing is wrong, my dear," he said calmly, "But I wish you to come with me at once. Quickly, run and get your hat and shawl. Go on!" He urged her gently up the stairs, replying to her questions simply with, "The sooner you come back down, the sooner you will know."

Seated in the coach, Elizabeth looked at her father and saw a faint smile upon his face. "Father, please," she said, "Don't be cruel; tell me now. Where are we going?"

"To the harbour," Swann replied.

"What?" Elizabeth cried, although her heart leapt within her. "Surely the harbour is closed off. They will have a cordon put round it until the fleet sails; no one to get in or out."

"Of course they will," her father said placidly. His smile grew and became a little smug. "But do you really think they will deny entrance to the Governor of Jamaica, my dear? Rank hath its privileges, you know."

Elizabeth tried to speak, but could not. Her father took her hand and held it as they drove down through the town and out to the harbour. He had been correct, the guards waved them through without a check and the coach drew up at the end of the quay. Swann reached past her and opened the door.

"Go on," he said. "Hurry, you haven't much time."

Elizabeth climbed down on suddenly shaky knees. She glanced into the coach but her father had not moved. "Go on," he said again, making shooing motions with his hands. "I shall stay here."

She turned and looked down the quay. The _Mercury_ and the _Forester_ had already cast off, but the _Dauntless_ was still moored. In the swarming crowd around the gangplank her eye picked out a tall, straight figure in a heavily-braided blue coat and she gasped. Almost without conscious thought, she began to walk down the quay, never taking her gaze from James as he stood talking with two of his officers. She walked faster, all at once afraid they would sail before she reached him. The way seemed impossibly long.

James spotted Elizabeth when she was halfway down the quay and he stared in astonishment until he saw the Governor's coach beyond her and understood how she had come to be there. For the merest instant he had a craven urge to go aboard and so place himself beyond her reach, but he mastered it. He dismissed the lieutenants with a word and stood alone to await her coming.

Elizabeth saw him watching her and almost sobbed with relief. As long as he was still ashore, the _Dauntless_ could not sail. She would have her chance. She began to run.

"James," she cried, as she drew near to him, "James!" She held out her hands as she ran. James came forward to meet her, catching her by the arms as she stumbled. When he would have released her, she took hold of his hands, gripping tightly when he would have pulled away. She was panting at first too hard to speak, for her stays prevented her from breathing deeply. "Must," she gasped, "must tell you."

"Elizabeth," James said, alarmed by her agitation, "What is the matter? Is your father well? What is wrong?"

"All well," she panted, still struggling for air. "I had to see you, to tell you."

"Tell me what?" he asked.

"I am sorry," Elizabeth said in a rush. "I was wrong to have done it. Please forgive me."

"Forgive you?" James cried, astonished. "Elizabeth, what on earth do you mean? It is I who should apologize to you!"

"Commodore," cried Captain Marshall, from the deck of the _Dauntless_, "make haste! The tide!" James freed one hand to wave an acknowledgement. He turned back to Elizabeth, who took his hand again.

"Say you forgive me," Elizabeth said. "Please, darling."

She was standing very close to him now, looking up with her face so full of love that James was staggered. He felt that either he had gone mad or a miracle had occurred, for suddenly nothing made sense.

"_Commodore_!"

"Elizabeth," he whispered. "I must go."

She nodded but made no move to release his hands. "Forgive me?"

James gave up trying to understand. "If you will forgive me," he said.

"Anything," she cried, throwing herself into his arms. "Always. Oh James, I love you!"

He held her close and kissed her. "I love you," he said.

Elizabeth stood where he had left her, watching as the _Dauntless_ slipped down the harbour, sails spreading one after another to the breeze. She did not speak when her father came to stand at her side - her heart was too full for words - but she took his hand and smiled her gratitude.

After a long while, he urged her gently back to the coach. They were silent still as they returned to the house. When they drew up at her front door, Elizabeth came to herself and little and asked her father to join her for breakfast, but he, guessing that his presence was not needed, declined with a smile.

Entering the house, Elizabeth hurried through it and out onto the terrace to look down the bay, where white sails were still to be seen, sailing south and west. She watched, between hope and fear, praying all the while for his safe return, until they dropped below the horizon.

All will be well, she told herself, as she went inside at last. All will be well.


	15. En Route to George Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A most unusual alliance is formed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: T

Commodore Norrington stood on his quarterdeck as the three Navy ships sailed west along the coast of Jamaica. He was attempting, with a notable lack of success, to make sense of what had occurred that morning on the quay at Port Royal.

Elizabeth, it was clear, still loved him. How this could be so he was not sure, but he was grateful beyond measure nonetheless. He cursed the necessity that bore him away just at the moment when they seemed on the verge of breaking through to a mutual understanding. But now, at least, he carried with him the assurance that, when he returned, there was an excellent chance that they _would_ reach that happy state.

James remembered the Governor's words the day before: "_You have the name of a lucky man._" He smiled to himself; the old fellow had been right, as usual. He was not one of those who made the mistake of underestimating Swann. He'd had ample opportunity over the years to see past the careful mask of fatuous amiability that his father-in-law habitually wore, to the kind-hearted and perceptive man beneath. It suited the Governor to appear faintly ridiculous; in this manner he not only disarmed those who would seek to use him in their political or economic schemes (leading, as James had been privileged to witness on several occasions, to the intense chagrin of plotters who had suddenly found themselves neatly outfoxed) but he also misled London into passing him over for promotion or reassignment. Swann was comfortable in Jamaica and did not desire to leave a post that suited him; he therefore took good care to stay off the lists of the lauded and able - civil servants who found themselves moved from place to place like pieces on a chess board while he 'languished' in contented and intentional obscurity.

Norrington had noted that it was Swann who had brought Elizabeth down to the port this morning. Had she, he wondered, confided in her father? He doubted it; it was not Elizabeth's way - she preferred to go her own road. Swann may have seen for himself that all was not well and had chosen to throw them together in the hopes that the shock would set things right. James chuckled; it was a move both shrewd and sentimental - and wonderfully effective. If Elizabeth were half so relieved and hopeful as he was, then her father doubtless was congratulating himself even now on the success of his stratagem.

But enough. His thoughts turned back to his current mission. He hoped that Livingston and Groves were yet holding out against the pirates. It would be a far simpler matter, although still perilous, to lift a siege than it would be to dislodge an occupying force from Grand Cayman.

As he had so many times in the past day and a half, he asked himself why this newly-formed buccaneer fleet had chosen George Town as their target. Had it been mere chance? Had their victory over the _Relentless_ while in those waters made them think the town an easy mark as well? Or were their plans more deep-laid? Did they perhaps think to take the island and hold it as a base for their operations? Surely, they could not believe that England - in the shape of the British Navy - would stand for that! Dry and barren the Caymans might be, with naught save turtling to support the inhabitants, but that did not mean that the Crown would give them up.

And who was leading the raiders? With Barbossa's death, Norrington had hoped the back of piracy in the Caribbean had been broken, but this, obviously, was not the case. Some lieutenant of Barbossa's perhaps. Jack - _Captain Sparrow_ \- had said that a score or so of the _Black Pearl's_ crew had escaped his trap - it was possible that one of them was a man with sufficient ability to rise to the top of a fraternity bereft of its chief. Well, he would soon find out.

James's thoughts veered from pirates to privateers. He took a turn about the quarterdeck, pacing with his hands clasped behind him and a slight frown between his brows. What in heaven's name was he to do about Jack Sparrow? It was too much to hope that the man had any intention of departing the West Indies and yet his presence - for obvious reasons - was undesirable. Jack was no more a privateer than he was; the man was undoubtedly a pirate. James had seen…

_The golden skin, battle-scarred and barbarically tattooed, moving like silk over lean muscles. Sleek and slick and hot._

…enough to assure him of that. Now that Jack had two formidable vessels under his command, he was in a position to become, if he chose, a power in the region. The _Lazarus_ \- or the _Fury_ as James supposed he was now to call her - was heavily-armed for her size and Jack had proven what she could do. And now he had the _Pearl_…

_The black timbers of her hull unyielding against his spine, smooth and oddly warm beneath his desperately groping fingers as he … as Jack…. Slick and wet and hot._

…which was still more dangerous. James's suspicions had been aroused when he had learnt that Jack had known the _Black Pearl_ before he took her from Barbossa and Jack's coy reticence regarding that knowledge was not a good sign. James had a notion that the _Pearl_ \- and not pirates in general - had been Jack's object all along. Well, he had her now; what did the scoundrel intend? He scowled, causing two midshipmen standing nearby to shift uneasily and search their consciences.

He asked himself yet again: What was he to do about Jack Sparrow? It was not only the man's choice of occupation that was the problem, of course. James suppressed a shiver. Jack was _(maddening)_ a stain upon his honour, he was _(intoxicating)_ a danger to his peace of mind, and he was _(addictive)_ a threat to James's marriage. James noted with dismay that Jack had already corrupted him to such an extent that the law and the penalties for what they had done together occurred to him only as an afterthought. Nothing could be clearer; Jack must be given up.

Perhaps it might be better if Sparrow took to open piracy. In that event James would know how to act; all need for decision would be gone. Jack would inevitably be captured and James could hang him _(could he?)_ and be done with the matter once and for all.

He shivered again in good earnest and saw Captain Marshall watching him with careful circumspection. Unreasonably exasperated, James nodded curtly and descended to his cabin. Probably thinks I've the yellow fever, damn his eyes, James told himself, pacing up and down before his desk. He laughed bitterly. If only his ailment were something so simple.

After a time, the monotonous activity calmed him and he was able to talk himself into a more rational state of mind. Very well then, Jack Sparrow would be given up, their guilty connection severed once and for all. James nodded, his face grim, as he sat at the desk and drew a stack of reports toward him. There would be no 'next time.'  
********

Mid-afternoon the next day, as they passed the western tip of Jamaica and altered their course a little north of west the lookout spotted sails bearing down on them from the northeast. In due course, the newcomers were seen to be the _Black Pearl_ and the _Fury_, both of whom took a position a mile off the convoy's starboard beam, matching heading and speed.

This maneuver was the source of some consternation aboard the _Dauntless_; questions with no answers troubled not only Captain Marshall and his lieutenants, but the Commodore as well. What did Sparrow mean by it? And how had he known where to fall in with them - for no one saw anything of chance in his appearance at precisely the opportune time and place.

James lowered his glass. The _Pearl_ flew no signals, but he needed none. Jack's sources of information were infuriatingly good; there was little doubt that the 'privateer' knew very well where they were bound and why. He was quite certain that Jack meant to accompany them all the way to Grand Cayman. But what did he intend to do upon arrival at George Town? In short, whose side was he on?

"Shall we heave to, Commodore?" Marshall asked him. "Signal for him to come explain himself?"

"Not yet, Captain," James replied. "Perhaps they will sheer off. We will wait them out."

But the two vessels held their place all that day and into the night. Dawn revealed them still in attendance at which point James, in disgust, gave the order.

A short time later, Jack Sparrow stood on the deck of the _Dauntless_, suave and smiling. He was shown into Norrington's cabin, there to be confronted by the Commodore, who was seated at his desk, with Captain Marshall and Major Thacker in chairs flanking him. Jack's smile did not falter at the sight of this reception committee - all of whom wore grave expressions - but James caught the slight, amused lift of an eyebrow and ground his teeth.

"You will explain yourself, Captain Sparrow," he snapped without preamble. "What are you doing?"

Jack's smile became a grin. He sauntered forward until he stood directly in front of the desk and made a show of looking around for a chair. Seeing none, he shrugged, dropped his hat on top of a stack of papers and chuckled. "I should think that would be obvious, gentlemen," he said, glancing at each man in turn. "I am on my way to George Town, hunting pirates."

"As a _privateer_," Norrington stressed the word, "You have no business interfering in Naval…"

"Under the circumstances, _Commodore_," Jack interrupted smoothly, looking James in the eye, "I should think you'd be grateful for the offer of two ships, rules or no rules. Think about it; two experienced crews and fifty guns between them. You'd be a fool to refuse."

"We'd be fools to accept," barked Major Thacker, glaring at Jack. "Impertinent jackanapes! Why, what are your ragtag worth, compared to a trained force such as ours? You'd be a liability, sir."

Jack burst out laughing. At the sound of this mirth, Major Thacker grew purple in the face and began to sputter. Norrington raised his brows.

"Captain Sparrow, please control yourself," he said sharply, as he placed a restraining hand on Thacker's sleeve. "I wish to know why you have made this… extraordinary offer. Am I correct in supposing that you have information about this pirate fleet?"

Jack grinned his approval at James. "Very astute of you, Commodore," he said, still chuckling. "I do indeed." He dragged a chair over from the table and sat in it, uninvited. Captain Marshall cleared his throat disapprovingly and Jack chuckled again, unabashed. "Now," he said, making himself comfortable, "Where do you want me to begin?"

James, who was beginning to be amused against his will by Jack's antics, released Thacker's arm and folded his hands before him on the desk. "At the beginning, if you please, Captain," he said. "What do you know of the ships?"

"Two French and two Spanish," Jack replied. "Newly taken and refitted. And the crews are hand-picked; sharper by far than those of the original owners, you may be sure."

"Armament?"

The numbers made Marshall whistle under his breath.

"Just so," said Jack, nodding.

"Who is their leader?" Norrington asked.

"His name is Will Turner," answered Jack. "Barely more than a lad, but trained by Barbossa; he's said to be a clever tactician - a savage and dangerous fighter."

Captain Marshall asked, "Is he the one the Spanish call El Diablo Inglés?"

"The same," Jack said. "You know of him?"

"Rumors only," Marshall replied, "but, even allowing for the inevitable exaggerations, he sounds formidable."

"And do you know why he is attacking George Town, Captain Sparrow?" asked Norrington.

Jack shook his head. "No. Unless, having started upon your Navy with some success," Thacker growled and James raised his hand for silence. "With some success," Jack repeated, "he thinks to draw you into a battle far from your base and complete the job. Apparently his ambitions are growing with each victory. He began this campaign, after all, with the intent to destroy just one man."

"Who is that?" Marshall asked.

"Me," Jack said, simply. "I took the _Black Pearl_, you see." After a pause, he added, "He's called his ship _Vengeance_."

Norrington nodded, but Marshall looked unconvinced. "How is it, then," he asked, "if his fleet is as strong as you say, that he has not succeeded in this aim?"

Jack gave him a pitying look. "Not for lack of trying, mate," he replied. "But I, not being a complete fool, have taken good care to stay out of his way. I've been waiting for the opportune moment to engage him, you might say."

"And you think that moment has arrived," James said. It was not a question.

Jack grinned and said nothing. He leaned back, steepling his fingers and crossing his ankles - very much at his ease - watching the three men before him with glinting eyes.

"Damned irregular," Major Thacker grumbled. "It all comes down to you sheltering behind the Navy. Why should we allow that, eh?"

"Turner is our common enemy and _un_commonly powerful and dangerous," Jack replied, with the patient air of one explaining the obvious. "There is a better than even chance that he could defeat either of us separately. That being the case, I fail to see what is so difficult to comprehend about my offer to join with you in order to remove the threat."

"You understand, Captain Sparrow," Norrington said, looking fixedly at Jack, "that, were I to accept your somewhat unorthodox proposal, you would be obliged to place the _Black Pearl_ and the _Fury_ under my command for the duration of the mission?"

"Perfectly," Jack nodded, giving back stare for stare. "I trust you, Commodore."

Thacker gave a crack of scornful laughter. "Aye, but do we trust you?" he asked. "That's the question."

Jack ignored him, holding James's eye and dipping his chin a hairsbreadth in the merest suggestion of a nod.

Norrington sat back in his chair. "Very well then," he said. "Gentlemen?" He glanced at Captain Marshall who, after a slight hesitation, nodded once. The Commodore then turned to Major Thacker, who glared under his brows for a moment, threw up his hands with a sound of disgust and looked away.

"We accept your offer of assistance, Captain Sparrow," Norrington said, looking again at Jack. "I base my decision in part upon the fact that you have once before worked with the Navy - in the matter of the _Paloma_ \- and have thus to a certain degree established your character as trustworthy. Furthermore the intelligence you have brought us today, if accurate, is invaluable and argues strongly in favour of making use of your aid."

Jack grinned and sketched a bow.

"But I warn you," Norrington continued, "if you fail to perform your promise or, worse, if you have treachery in mind, you will find in me an enemy far more dangerous and implacable than Will Turner. Do I make myself clear?"

"Inescapably clear, Commodore," Jack replied, with the hint of a smile. He sat up straight. "Well, now that that's settled, what's your plan of action?"

At this point, Major Thacker excused himself rather testily and left the cabin. Norrington looked after him thoughtfully for a moment before moving to the chart table and gesturing for Jack and Captain Marshall to join him there.

"It is my intention to take a swing round the island and come down on George Town from the north," he said, tracing the proposed route with his finger on the map.

"Aye, good thinking; that way we'll have the weather gage and, depending on the time of day, perhaps an element of surprise," Jack nodded.

The three spent the next hour poring over the map and adjusting the battle plans to accommodate the increased forces at Norrington's command. When all was arranged to the Commodore's satisfaction and Jack was clear on the parts to be played by the _Pearl_ and the _Fury_ and the system of signals to be used, they went on deck and Jack took his leave.

"Here's to success, gentlemen," Jack said, shaking first Marshall's hand and then Norrington's. "We will meet again in George Town."

Jack went over the side and James permitted himself an almost inaudible sigh as he watched the boat pull away to the _Pearl_. So long as he took care never to be alone with Sparrow, it would be possible to stick to his resolve. There would be, he reminded himself, no 'next time.'  
********

Once they were under way again - and the _Black Pearl_ and the _Fury_ had swung into line behind the _Forester_ \- Captain Marshall took the first opportunity of private speech with Norrington to express his doubts of Sparrow's intentions.

"Sir," he said, "if I may speak freely…"

Norrington gestured for him to continue.

"It's Sparrow, sir. It's my guess that he's a pirate himself," Marshall said, "I've no evidence, else I'd've brought it up this morning to his face, but there is _that_ about him that gives one to wonder, if you know what I mean."

Norrington smiled very slightly and astonished Marshall by saying, "I perfectly agree with you, Captain. I have very little doubt that it is as you say; Jack Sparrow is almost certainly a pirate."

"Then why are you allowing him to sail with us?" Marshall asked. "What's to stop him turning on us and joining forces with Turner's fleet?"

"Two points, Captain Marshall," Norrington replied. "One: I would rather have Sparrow under my eye at a time like this than roaming free working God knows what mischief, and two: I believe that there is indeed mortal enmity between Turner and Sparrow. I have heard of Turner before this and rumor always linked him with Barbossa and the _Black Pearl_. It makes perfect sense therefore that Turner would set out to re-take the ship and I doubt Sparrow will allow that. So, you see, Sparrow _is_ on our side - at least at the moment."

Marshall nodded, clearly relieved. "Yes, sir, I see. So, we will be able to rely on Sparrow to bear his part in this action as planned. That is good news, for, to confess the truth, sir, when he told us of the fire power of Turner's fleet it shook me. It would have taken exceptional luck for us to have beaten a force like that without the addition of those two pirates."

"To be frank, Marshall," James replied, "I feel the same way. With Sparrow's fifty cannon we have a fair chance of winning. Without them…" He shrugged.

"What's that saying?" Marshall said. "Ah, yes. Necessity makes for strange bedfellows."

Norrington coughed. "Indeed," he said. "Carry on, Captain." He returned Marshall's salute and left the quarterdeck.


	16. Battle before George Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: T

Three days later, at dawn, they rounded Boatswain's Point, then North West Point, and headed south on the last leg of their journey. They were less than ten miles from George Town, so the boom of cannon, when it began a few minutes later, came faint but clear to their ears. This heartening proof that the defense still held lifted the spirits of all. Final preparations for battle proceeded swiftly and in an atmosphere of renewed hope.

On the quarterdeck of the _Dauntless_ Commodore Norrington was conferring with Captain Marshall and Major Thacker. The latter, it was clear, had not reconciled himself to the presence of the privateers. He glanced often astern to where the _Pearl_, less than half a mile back, held her place behind the _Forester_, with the _Fury_ beyond.

"Commodore," he said, when Captain Marshall had left them, "about those privateers."

"What about them, Major?" Norrington asked, speaking coldly and raising his brows.

Impervious to the hint, Thacker replied, "Are you quite certain that they will fight on our side?"

The Commodore frowned. The Major was like a bulldog - once he took hold of an idea he did not let it go. It made him, on occasion, tiresomely obtuse. Were he not such a good soldier, Norrington would have arranged for his transfer long before this, but as it was, his value outweighed his ability to annoy his Commodore - just barely.

"Major Thacker, we have been over this ground more than once," Norrington answered with asperity. "I have good and sufficient reason to trust Captain Sparrow's offer. Yes, I am certain he is on our side. In a very few minutes now, we will see whether that trust is misplaced. Until and unless I am proved wrong you will treat them as allies. Dismissed."

Thacker, somewhat red in the face, saluted and took himself off. James looked astern at the _Pearl's_ black sails. He remembered the dark eyes steady on his and the tiny nod and was reassured. "Be true, Jack Sparrow," he whispered.

The cannon fire ahead of them was slackening. The lookouts reported the pirates had broken off their assault on the fort and were falling back to avoid being caught between the defenders on one side and the attackers on the other. Norrington permitted himself a tiny smile, which was returned by Captain Marshall. Short of trapping their prey against the fort, this was the next best thing, for now the Navy had the weather gage.

"Sharpshooters aloft," Norrington ordered. There was a last, mad scramble and then everything was in place.

Before them the buccaneer ships, which had bunched together in their haste to reach open water, were spreading out in a ragged line athwart his advance, with the _Vengeance_ \- their flagship - closest to land. They had begun firing - long before the _Dauntless_ and her companions were in range - and Norrington drew reassurance from his quarry's at least momentary disarray and indiscipline.

He held their course - his ships in strict formation behind the _Dauntless_, presenting almost no mark for the pirates' cannons - until it appeared certain his intention was to ram the _Vengeance_ amidships. There was, despite the thunder of pirate cannon ahead, a waiting calm aboard the _Dauntless_. Norrington glanced away from the enemy line to run his eye over his ship. Sailors, marines, gunners - all were poised, eyes forward, ready to spring into action at his word. Even the preparatory clamour from the gun decks was muted in the pause before the command to fire.

Closer, and closer still. The _Dauntless_ began taking some slight damage, but Norrington knew it was worth it to have the pirates caught with most of their ordnance discharged and reloading when he made his move.

At last he gave the order. A flare went up from the poop as a signal to those behind him. In that instant, the _Dauntless_ swung hard aport and loosed the full starboard broadside at the pirate flagship. The ship roared and shuddered beneath his feet and wall of white smoke bellied forth and rolled up to obscure, momentarily, his view of the enemy. Behind them the _Mercury_ and the _Forester_ turned simultaneously to starboard and opened fire further down the enemy line. Battle was joined.

As her head came up into the wind, Captain Marshall brought the _Dauntless_ neatly around with her stern to the enemy as they returned fire. She continued her stately pirouette and finished by emptying the port broadside into the _Vengeance_. The sharpshooters began to fire, the crackle of their muskets riding like a descant on the deeper boom of the cannon.

At this moment, the fourth pirate, which had been obscured by its flagship, came up into line and opened fire. James watched, through the wind-shredded smoke, as it was answered by the _Black Pearl_, in a whirling maneuver very like that of the _Dauntless_.

"Neatly done, Sparrow," he murmured.

Even as he looked away, the _Fury_, all sails set, flashed between him and the _Pearl_ and bore down on the enemy line as if she would crash into the _Pearl_'s opponent, heedless of the fire belching from the flanks of the buccaneers. At the last possible moment, Anamaria swerved and passed between the two ships, loosing both broadsides as she did so - doing some slight damage to the _Vengeance_ and smashing the stern and rudder of the starboard ship into matchwood.

Once through the pirate line, the _Fury_ turned to starboard and, passing along behind the battle, was able to loose broadsides at three of the enemy - not only the one engaged by the _Pearl_, but the opponents of the _Mercury_ and the _Forester_ as well, as she flew downwind as fast as she could go. Long before any of the pirates were able to spare the effort from their main battle to fire on her she was far out of range and on a long reach westward before beating back toward the island.

The allies meanwhile kept up a relentless barrage against the enemy fleet and the pirates responded vigorously. The surface of the sea was churned to a froth with the impact of cannon balls; the smoke rapidly became so thick, despite the stiff breeze, that nothing could be seen save the muzzle-flashes of the cannon. Only the steady, rhythmic booming of the Navy broadsides told Norrington that his ships were still in the fight.

Aboard the _Pearl_, Jack efficiently continued the job of disabling his chosen adversary. He sent a round of chain-shot to shred the rigging, missing the masts, but wreaking havoc with the stays and shrouds. Next, he pounded her waterline - round after round - to such good effect that she soon began to take on water and fled downwind, listing badly and without the means of steering - _hors de combat_. A ragged cheer went up from the _Pearl_ as one enemy was thus eliminated.

The _Black Pearl_ then turned her attention to the _Vengeance_, coming to the assistance of the _Dauntless_. Rather than waste precious time tacking, Jack put the _Pearl's_ sweeps to use, moving upwind of the combatants. Norrington, as the _Pearl_ moved past his ship, was grimly amused to see the privateer's oars. The mystery of the legendary speed of the _Black Pearl_ was now solved.

Once clear of the stern of the _Dauntless_, Jack opened fire on the _Vengeance_, assaulting her starboard quarter with everything he had. The _Vengeance_ responded by slewing round to starboard so that her formidable batteries could threaten both attackers at once. The noise of the battle escalated once again to almost unbearable levels as the three ships fired upon each other at once. Jack continued to move the _Pearl_ upwind, putting distance between himself and the _Dauntless_ and forcing Turner to choose one or the other of them to fire upon. Receiving at that moment a broadside from the _Dauntless_, he swung the _Vengeance_ back to port and replied.

Putting about, Jack ordered the _Pearl_'s sweeps racked again and drifted down upon the battle with topsails reefed and with his rigging full of his best marksmen. As the _Pearl's_ bows drew close to the stern of the _Dauntless_, he searched through the rolling white clouds of acrid smoke and caught a glimpse of James standing near the starboard rail of his quarterdeck.

Just then there was a rending crash and the foretopmast of the _Vengeance_ splintered and fell, dragging sails and rigging to the deck in a deceptively slow cascade; the fog of smoke parted for an instant and flames could be seen as canvas came into contact with the guns. Though her fire did not immediately slacken, it became apparent that this may have been the decisive blow; the _Vengeance_ was now preparing to disengage. Jack looked again for James, wondering if he would give the order to pursue. He saw James turn as if to issue an order, throw his arms up in the air, stagger backward and tumble over the rail - plunging into the water between the _Black Pearl_ and the _Dauntless_.

"Gibbs!" Jack roared, racing forward. But Gibbs, having seen the Commodore go overboard, was already busy - he had snatched up a line and was furiously knotting a loop in one end. By the time Jack reached him he was already at the rail with the loop in one hand and a large coil of the line in the other. They searched the roiling water and, as Norrington broke the surface, flailing with one arm only, Gibbs tossed the loop with such accuracy that it landed within half a foot of him. Norrington reached for it and missed, sinking once again beneath the water. Jack swore wildly and yanked off his boots. His coat followed and he vaulted to the rail and dived.

An instant after Jack hit the water, Norrington rose again. His struggles were weakening and he was unable to catch the line that Gibbs once again tossed to him. Gibbs spared a glance up at the great ship above him and saw a row of men at the rail, gesturing vehemently toward the _Pearl_ and shouting. He saw them tossing life lines and preparing to lower a boat in the second before he returned his attention to the water.

Jack broke the surface so near to the other man that he was able to reach him in two strokes. Nevertheless, Norrington had again slipped underwater. Jack dove and surfaced in seconds hauling the Commodore - who appeared to be unconscious - by the collar of his coat.

Gibbs tossed the line a third time; Jack caught it and hung on while he and his burden were towed alongside the _Pearl_. Once against the hull, a sling was lowered and two of his men dove into the water to assist him in getting James into it. Once he was secure, the sling was speedily hoisted up to the davit and swung on board. Jack came dripping over the rail as Gibbs freed Norrington and laid him down upon the deck.

Less than five minutes had elapsed since the Commodore had gone into the water.

Jack knelt beside Gibbs as the grizzled sailor examined Norrington. There was a spreading stain on his left shoulder and Gibbs lost no time cutting away the uniform coat and shirt to reveal a wound that bled heavily. Gibbs wadded the torn shirt and pressed hard upon it as he lifted Norrington and checked his back.

"Ball's still in 'im," he grunted. "No exit wound."

"Get the bleeding stopped, Josh," Jack said. He ran to the quarterdeck; his view was obscured by the haze of smoke that lay heavy upon the surface of the sea, despite the breeze. But he did not need to see to know that the battle was all but over. No cannon boomed and the crack and rattle of small arms fire was tailing off.

The _Vengeance_ and one of her companions could be seen downwind spreading sail to flee while the remaining buccaneer was held tight in the clutches of the _Forester_; grappled and boarded. Through the thinning smoke Jack saw the _Mercury_ moving to help subdue the captive. The _Dauntless_ meanwhile was keeping close to the _Pearl_ and Jack grinned as he thought of the consternation aboard the Navy's flagship at seeing the Commodore in his hands.

He gave orders to put about and make for George Town with all speed. "Man the sweeps," he snapped, hurrying down again to where Gibbs was still at work over Norrington, who had not regained his senses.

Jack watched without speaking as the quartermaster bound the wounded man's shoulder and tied the bandage tightly in place with strips of linen. "Well?" he asked at last.

"Don’t like it," Gibbs shook his head. "Where he's been hit, if his lung ain't already been touched, then digging the ball out will do it for certain. It's beyond my skill, Jack."

"There'll be a doctor in George Town," Jack replied.

"What about the surgeon from the _Dauntless_?"

Jack made a scornful noise. "You know and I know, Joshamee Gibbs, exactly what a Naval surgeon's likely to be worth. We'll find a proper physician ashore."

Gibbs was about to reply when James stirred and uttered a low groan. He opened his eyes, blinking to clear them. Focusing on Jack and Gibbs as they bent over him he frowned in puzzlement. "Where…?" he asked hoarsely and coughed; the movement jarred his shoulder and his face contorted in pain.

"Aboard the _Pearl_, Commodore," Jack said, "You took a musket ball and went overboard. We fished you out and Gibbs here got the bleeding stopped."

Norrington's right hand groped toward his shoulder and fumbled with the bandage. "The _Dauntless_?" he asked.

"Just astern and coming about," Jack replied. "Captain Marshall no doubt intends to follow us to George Town."

"The battle?"

"Over. One of theirs captured, the others fled. Ours all still afloat."

Jack's laconic summary appeared to annoy Norrington. He opened his mouth but Jack forestalled him.

"It'll be two hours before we make port, rowing against this headwind," he said. "Let's get you out of the sun and into a bunk. Can you stand or shall we carry you?"

"I can stand," James replied. But once helped to his feet he blanched as if he would faint again, and swayed until Jack steadied him with an arm around his waist, drawing James's good arm around his own shoulders.

James insisted on moving to the rail, in sight of the _Dauntless_, so that Marshall - who was certainly watching the _Black Pearl_ through his glass - could see that he, James, was alive, but he made no objection when Jack very soon obliged him to go into the great cabin.

Until the doors to the passage closed behind them, Norrington managed to keep upright - with Jack's help - and put one foot in front of the other, but once out of sight of the crew he sagged heavily against Jack. With Gibbs helping, Jack all but carried James into the cabin and laid him down upon the bunk, where he lapsed once again into insensibility.

Gibbs shook his head. "He's lost a mort o' blood, Jack."

"Not enough to kill him," Jack said, looking sidelong at Gibbs. "So don't start."

"Start what?" Gibbs asked.

"Prophesying doom, you old buzzard," Jack snarled. "I'll have none of it."

Gibbs raised both hands, palm out, in a placating gesture as Jack turned back to the still figure on the bunk. The wound had bled a little - there was fresh red staining the bandage - but it had already stopped again.

"Someone should stay with 'im," Gibbs said, "To keep him from moving about and making it worse."

"I intend to," Jack replied. "See to things on deck for me, will you Josh? And change out the rowers after an hour - we'll make better time that way."

"Aye, Jack."

Once Gibbs had gone, Jack stood for some time watching James. He pressed an ear to the pale chest and listened intently; after a few moments he straightened again with a look of profound relief. Although rapid, Norrington's breathing sounded normal; there was nothing to indicate that his lungs were affected - no bubbling or gurgling, no (gods forbid!) rattle.

He shivered and was suddenly conscious of his dripping clothes. He stripped and rubbed himself briskly with a cloth before pulling on dry breeches and shirt. He went over to the bunk once more.

James was still in his wet breeches and a chill was the last thing he needed. Jack debated getting him out of them, but decided against disturbing his rest. Instead, he drew up the light blanket, covering James to the chin. He paused and then went to a chest and pulled out a quilt and spread that atop the blanket. As he was tucking it in, James opened his eyes.

"I fainted?" he asked.

Jack nodded. "You did."

"Nonsense," James frowned, "I don't faint."

"You do with a musket ball in you," Jack retorted, fetching a tumbler and the water jug. "Thirsty?"

"Parched. I think I swallowed half the Caribbean." James began to push back the bedclothes but Jack stopped him.

"No," he said, "You'll start the bleeding again. Lie still." He pulled up a stool and placed the water upon it. Then he went to the head of the bunk. He slipped his arm carefully beneath James's shoulders and raised him until he was half-sitting, perching on the edge of the bed and supporting him against his own shoulder.

"Now, then." He handed the tumbler to James, who drank thirstily and held it up for Jack to refill. After the second glass of water, Jack reached under a corner of the bedding and drew out a silver flask. He poured four fingers of golden-brown liquid into the glass and offered it to James.

"Rum," he said. "For the pain."

James tried to protest but Jack put the glass in his hand. "Shut up and drink it," he said. "You'll want the fortification when they probe for the ball."

"Good point," James said, his tone wry. He drank. "At least it's not the usual rotgut."

"No indeed; that's my private stock of eight-year-old rum," Jack chuckled. "Nothing but the best."

"Sybarite," James murmured.

"Ascetic," Jack countered with a grin, taking the now-empty glass. He lowered James to the bed and once more covered him with the quilt. "Rest now. You're going to need your strength when we find a doctor for you."

"_Find_ a doctor?"

"Gibbs tells me that ball is lodged near your lung. It will take some skill to extract it," Jack replied. "Surely, you don't want the surgeon from the _Dauntless_ working on you?"

James frowned, as if he would take exception to the implied aspersion, then sighed and closed his eyes. "Spencer is a good man, in his way, but not the one I'd choose, no. He will have his hands full enough with the crew, at any rate."

Silence fell. Jack drew up a chair and, pouring a generous measure from the flask, he made himself comfortable for his vigil.

James sighed again and opened his eyes. "Jack," he said softly.

"Right here, mate."

"Thank you."

Jack waved his glass dismissively. "Don't mention it. Entirely self-serving - never hurts to have the Navy indebted to me." He grinned.

"Liar." James smiled sleepily and Jack was struck momentarily dumb; utterly taken aback by the unguarded sweetness of that smile. He cleared his throat and drew a deep breath.

"Yes. Well, then." He took a long swallow of rum. "Go to sleep," he said, but James's eyes were already shut.

For the rest of the trip to George Town, Jack sat and watched James sleep. He drank steadily but judiciously, becoming more and more amused as the day wore on. He should have foreseen this, he told himself. "Who's susceptible to whom, eh?" he whispered. Chuckling quietly, he shook his head. "You're a fool, Jack Sparrow. A damned fool."  
**********

The afternoon was well advanced before the _Black Pearl_ was able to tie up at the short quay in George Town's harbour. At that, they were far ahead of the _Dauntless_ which, lacking sweeps - and far too large in any case to be propelled in such a fashion - was forced to tack against a head wind.

They were met by Lieutenant Livingston and Captain Groves. Fortunately, Jack was known to Groves - who had met him on Grenada and who introduced him to Livingston - a rather haggard young man who clearly took a dim view of privateers. To his credit, Livingston did his best to hide his ill opinion under a punctilious formality that fooled no one and merely served to make him seem very young indeed. Jack, vastly entertained, responded with a grave courtesy that caused Captain Groves to struggle against untimely laughter.

When introductions were complete, Jack asked, "Tell me Lieutenant, is the Blue Turtle still in existence?"

"It is, sir," Livingston replied, surprised. "You have visited George Town before?"

"I have," Jack replied with a grin, "A number of years ago, on, er… business. That hostelry, as I recall it, was uncommonly good, for so remote a place as this."

He turned and indicated the litter at that moment descending the _Pearl's_ gangplank in the hands of two of his men. "Commodore Norrington was wounded in the battle this morning - a musket ball is lodged in his shoulder - and he will be more comfortable at the inn than aboard ship."

"The Commodore!" Groves hurried to the stretcher, bending over it with anxious attention. "Sir," he said, "Commodore, can you hear me?"

"Perfectly well, Groves," James replied, opening his eyes and smiling faintly. "My ears suffered no injury, just my damned shoulder. Captain Sparrow would have me carried ashore like an invalid, and I found it easier to humour him, for in truth I am not quite steady on my feet."

"But sir, how did you come to be aboard the _Black Pearl_?" Groves asked.

"Apparently," Norrington replied, "I went into the water when I was shot, and Sparrow and his men were the first to get to me. Never mind that, how is it with you?"

"Tolerably well, sir," Groves said. "As well as can be expected after withstanding a week-long siege, and much better now that you have lifted it for us."

Lieutenant Livingston joined them as Norrington was borne along the quay.

"Ah, Lieutenant," Norrington said. "You are to be commended on holding out against the buccaneers for as long as you did. Well done."

"Thank you, Commodore," Livingston replied, bowing. "But I can by no means accept all the credit. It would not have been possible without the assistance of Captain Groves and the _Lord Weldon_."

Norrington was silent for moment, closing his eyes with a frown as the bearers jostled the litter. "I shall expect your written reports, gentlemen, as soon as convenient," he said, his voice tight with pain. "At present, I expect there are good many things demanding your attention. I doubt we have heard the last of Turner. See to the wounded and effect necessary repairs with all possible speed."

Livingston, correctly interpreting this as dismissal, saluted and departed; Captain Groves, however, continued at the side of Norrington's litter as it was borne along the town's main street toward the inn.

Norrington cocked an eyebrow at him. "That was meant for you, too, Theo" he smiled. "Go about your business, man. I am fine."

"Fine, James?" Groves exclaimed. "With a ball in you? How like you to make light of it! No, I will see you properly cared for, first. Elizabeth - and Mary as well - would expect no less; I am more afraid of them than of you, you know."

James chuckled and then winced as the laughter jarred his shoulder. "Be serious, Theo. Captain Sparrow will look after me," he said. "You are needed elsewhere; you can best serve me by seeing to the fleet. If I should become _temporarily_ unable to command, the responsibility will fall on you. With Gillette gone, you are my most senior officer. "

At the mention of Gillette, Groves's expression clouded. "I… There was nothing I could have done, James," he said. "The powder went up. I was lucky just to get the Lord Weldon away. If we'd been facing all four of the pirate ships, instead of only two, we'd have gone the way of the _Relentless_, I make no doubt."

James held out his hand and Groves took it. "You did well," he replied. "Now go; there's work to be done."

"Very well," Groves said, pressing James's hand before releasing it. "I'll find the _Lord Weldon's_ surgeon, at least, and send him along."

"No, don't," James answered. "I want the men seen to first. The _Dauntless_ and the others will be here soon - all the ships' surgeons have enough to do. Captain Sparrow will get me the civilian physician."

"Doctor Selwyn?" Groves cried. "But he's on Little Cayman; he was stranded there during the siege. Livingston sent the swiftest of the fishing boats for him this morning, as soon as it was clear you'd broken the siege, but he can't possibly be here before tomorrow night."

"Then he will see me when he arrives," James said impatiently. "I'll last. Now, Captain Groves, _will_ you obey your Commodore and get to work?"

Groves frowned at James, who waved his hand in a shooing motion.

"Very well, _Commodore_," Groves replied. "I shall send later to enquire as to your condition."

"Anything you wish," James smiled, "Just so long as you stop fussing over me."

Groves shook his head at this, pressed James's hand once more and took himself off at last.

The litter had by this time reached the inn where Jack, who had gone before, met it at the door. The innkeeper, a rotund individual by the name of Hobson, was with him.

"Commodore Norrington, sir," Hobson said, bowing, "Welcome to the Blue Turtle. Jack - er, Captain Sparrow, I _should_ say - has bespoke our best room for your honour, and a private parlour, what's more, for when you're feeling more the thing."

At Jack's direction, the litter bearers carried James into the common room, which, while somewhat stuffy and warm, seemed a cool oasis after the blazing sun.

The innkeeper hovered nearby. "My rib's upstairs, your honour, preparing your room. It won't be a moment."

"_Hobson!_" a shrill voice shouted from the floor above, "Bring him up."

James wished to walk up the stairs, but Jack gave him no opportunity to try. The litter was maneuvered up the narrow staircase and into a surprisingly light and airy room on the first floor, where the innkeeper's wife, a lady as stout as her husband, was turning down the bed.

"Oh the poor gentleman," she cried, catching sight of the bloody bandage about James's shoulder. "Wounded fighting them wicked pirates. Let's get you into bed, sir, and made comfortable. Once Doctor Selwyn gets back, he'll see you right, never fear. What a pity he's gone to Little Cayman, but I daresay he'll be back quick enough, now that it's safe and all."

"Thank you, Mistress Hobson," Jack interjected smoothly, shepherding her to the chamber door, "The room is lovely - just what was wanted. And now, I will take it from here."

"Go on with you, Jack Sparrow," she scoffed good-naturedly, swatting him on the arm. "You, playing nursemaid! What next, I wonder? Ah well, just as you please. Be sure to call if there's anything you lack."

"I will, Sally, never fear," Jack replied, shutting the door upon her and turning to James with a grin and a roll of his eyes. "A heart of gold," he said, "But she can talk the hind leg off a donkey. Now, then."

With the help of the stretcher bearers, Jack shifted James to the bed. The men then took themselves and their litter back to the _Pearl_. Jack accompanied them to the landing and issued some instructions in a low voice before returning to the room.

James lay with eyes closed, breath shallow, and a light sheen of sweat on his brow. The trip up the stairs and the move to the bed - despite the best efforts of all concerned - had caused him considerable pain. He concentrated on _not_ losing consciousness and presently the faintness passed. Gradually he became aware of his surroundings. The bed was wide and soft, the pillows beneath his head were feather ones and the sheets, smooth and cool against his back, smelled of lemon and fresh air. He opened his eyes; Jack stood by the open window, watching him. He smiled.

"You were right, Jack," he said, "This is far more comfortable than a bunk aboard ship."

"One of these days," Jack grinned, "You will learn to take me at my word. Now, let's get you undressed, eh?"

James frowned. "It's not fitting," he said. "Surely there is someone…"

"It's Sally Hobson or me," Jack chuckled. "Which would you rather? The only nurse on the island is the midwife and they tell me she's not been sober a day these ten years. Don't be missish, James," Jack went on, laughing at the scowl this elicited. "Think how pleasant it will be to get out of those soggy breeches."

James acquiesced with as good grace as he could muster. In truth, Jack was a skillful attendant and managed to get the breeches off without causing any additional pain. In a very few minutes, James was tucked up and drifting once again toward sleep.

Jack waited until James was sleeping soundly, then checked his pulse - elevated but regular and strong - and felt his forehead for fever. Finding him only slightly warmer than was normal, he smiled. Luck, so far, was with them.

Leaving the potboy sitting in the sickroom, with orders to have him fetched instantly if the Commodore should waken or if his condition changed, Jack hurried back to the _Pearl_. There he found Gibbs and Anamaria - for the _Fury_ had just made port - conferring over needed repairs to their ships. The wounded had been doctored and were resting; the five dead were being stitched into their hammocks. In short, all was under control.

Anamaria, predictably, scowled when he told them he would be staying at the inn for a few days. Gibbs's careful lack of expression was no less disapproving.

"It's five minutes' walk," Jack snapped, "if that. I'm not going beyond reach. Don't argue."

"Who said anything about arguing?" Gibbs asked as Anamaria rolled her eyes. "You're the Captain."

"And don't you forget it," Jack replied. "Did you get the message I sent with Williams?"

"Aye, Jack," Gibbs nodded. "We're to keep the common room at the Blue Turtle at least half full of our men at all times."

"On their best behaviour," Jack said. "No brawling or breaking up the place, either. Not that they'd get away with it. Remember Hobson? He's the innkeeper."

"You don't say!" Gibbs exclaimed. "So this is where he fetched up. And Sally?"

"Same as ever," Jack grinned. "Come pay your respects, or she'll come looking for you."

Gibbs laughed. "I wouldn't miss a chance to see old Sal."

"Right then," Jack said, "I'm off. See you at the Blue Turtle." He paused at the top of the gangplank and came back to where they stood. "One other thing," he said.

Anamaria glared and even Gibbs looked cautious. "What's that?"

"Well done this morning," Jack said, serious for once, glancing from one to the other. "Brilliant work, both of you. Bloody brilliant." He startled Anamaria considerably by kissing her hand. "You're a Pirate Queen, love," he said with a grin. "See that the men know how proud I am of them, will you?"

When he had gone, Gibbs looked at Anamaria, who shrugged. "Must be the rum talking," she said.

"Must be," Gibbs replied. They laughed and went back to work.  
*************

The late afternoon sun was pouring in the windows of James's room when there came a brisk knock upon the door. Jack opened it to find a dapper gentleman in a plain black coat and a doctor's wig. He held a black bag under his left arm.

"Captain Sparrow?" he said, "I am Doctor Selwyn."

Jack shook the offered hand and then stepped aside to allow the physician to enter. "We weren't expecting you until tomorrow evening, Doctor," he said.

"Had I waited for Livingston's messenger, that would indeed have been the case, sir," the doctor replied. "But yesterday, impatient with delay, I persuaded the friend with whom I was staying to sail me home. He would come no nearer than Welch Point, but that is barely five miles from this place. An easy walk."

As he spoke he laid his instrument case upon the table, opened it up, and began setting out the tools of his trade.

"Jack?" James's voice was heavy with sleep.

"Ah good, you're awake," Jack said. "James, this is Doctor Selwyn, come back from Little Cayman sooner than anticipated. Doctor, Commodore Norrington." The two men shook hands.

"Now then, sir," the doctor said. "Let me examine you." He took a small pair of scissors from his pocket and began snipping away the bandages that bound James's left shoulder. His touch was deft and gentle; he wasted no time laying bare the wound.

Jack placed his flask in James's hand and uncorked it. "You'll want this," he said.

Selwyn nodded approvingly. "That's it, sir. A good long pull at that will set you up like nothing else. I daresay you will be grateful for it when we extract the ball." James nodded and drank deep.

A knock sounded and Jack went to open the door. Hobson entered, carrying a large basin and a steaming kettle, followed by his wife bearing a pile of folded cloth.

"Ah, there you are," the doctor exclaimed. "Now we may begin. The Hobsons have assisted me with surgery of this kind on a number of occasions, Commodore; you are in good hands."

James nodded. "I am sure of it," he replied, eyeing the preparations with some foreboding.

The table was drawn near to the bed and Hobson set the basin upon it - next to the doctor's instruments - half filling it with hot water and putting the kettle on the empty hearth. Mistress Hobson busied herself with tearing an old sheet into strips to be used as bandages.

Doctor Selwyn removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves. He then dipped a napkin in the basin and cleaned the dried blood from around the hole in James's shoulder, which bled a little, sluggishly. James took another pull at the rum and gave the flask back to Jack. The doctor tossed aside the bloody cloth and took up a probe and forceps.

"Sally," he said, "you stand here by me and hold the Commodore's arm still. Hobson, his feet. Captain Sparrow, if you would oblige me by taking his right arm? Thank you. Now, Commodore, I shall be as quick as may be, but the ball is very near your lung. It may take some time to remove safely."

James nodded. "Best get on with it then, Doctor." He turned his head to look past Jack and out the window, at the sliver of sea visible between the intervening houses.

The next few minutes would remain in James's memory as some of the most unpleasant he had ever spent. The struggle to breathe around the bright agony in his shoulder took every bit of will he could muster. He chewed his lip bloody in a vain effort to remain silent as the doctor poked and prodded relentlessly. He groaned - and knew he would have howled, could he have got enough air - but the pain sucked the breath from his lungs, leaving him panting and faint.

James became aware of a hand holding his, returning the convulsive pressure of his clutch, matching him grip for grip. He blinked to clear his vision and looked into dark eyes. Jack was speaking but he could not hear the words for the roaring in his ears. Suddenly he felt a lancing pain that dwarfed all that had gone before. He cried out and everything went black.

"Got it at last!" the doctor exclaimed as James fainted. He held up the bloody forceps to display a musket ball clamped in its jaws. He tossed it into the basin. "That little devil was buried deep, but I think we missed the lung."

Selwyn stepped away from the bed. "Mistress Hobson, if you will be so good, please see to the dressing. Quickly now, before he wakes up."

Sally cleaned the fresh blood from James's shoulder, folded a thick, soft pad and bound it to the wound with an efficiency that spoke of much experience. Jack, who knew just how she had gained that experience, was grateful for her help and said so.

"Now, none o' that, Jack," she replied. "I'd do the same for any poor soul, as _you_ know full well." She winked at him over her shoulder.

Doctor Selwyn washed his hands and rolled down his sleeves, fastening the cuffs as he watched Sally work.

"Thank you, Mistress Hobson," he said at last, "That will do very well." He nodded at the innkeeper. "I thank you as well, Hobson. You have been a great help, as ever."

The Hobsons gathered up the bloody rags, the basin and kettle. On the threshold, Sally nudged her husband, who turned to say, "Anything you'll be needing, Jack, just ring the bell. Sally's got some broth ready, as soon as the Commodore feels up to taking some nourishment."

Jack smiled his thanks. The door closed and he could hear them descending the stairs. The doctor meanwhile was taking James's pulse and pulling back his eyelid.

"He should come around shortly," Selwyn said, donning his coat. "I shall be below stairs for a little, eating my dinner prior to going over to the Fort. I'll come back to check on the patient before I leave." He packed up his bag and snapped it closed.

"Now, Captain Sparrow, you realize, I am sure, that the Commodore must not be left alone until he is out of danger." Jack nodded. "Our only nurse is… indisposed at present. I _could_ see about getting one of the fisherman's wives… no? You have dealt with persons in his condition?"

Jack grinned and, undoing the top buttons of his waistcoat, pulled aside the neck of his shirt.

"Ah," said the doctor, leaning a little forward to look closely at the two round scars on Jack's chest. "First hand experience, I see. You are lucky to be alive, sir."

"I _am_ lucky, Doctor," Jack replied, still smiling. "My grandmother always said I was born to hang - no bullet stands a chance."

Selwyn laughed. "Well then. Keep him quiet and watch for fever. See if you can't get him to eat something when he wakes." He nodded pleasantly and left the room.

Jack stripped off coat and waistcoat - the room was hot with the early evening sun - and pulled a chair up to the bed. He turned to find James watching him.

"I fainted again," James said. There was an aggrieved note in his drowsy voice.

"You did, mate," Jack chuckled. "It's just not your best day, is it?"

James smiled. "Did he get it out?"

Jack retrieved the ball from the table and dropped it into James's palm. "A memento," he said. "How do you feel?"

"Sore," James said, wincing a little as he tried to move his shoulder. "But better than I did, thank God."

"Hungry?" Jack asked. "Sally's got some broth ready; she's a good cook, that one."

James shook his head a fraction. "Not just yet, I think," he replied, and yawned. "Sleepy."

"Then rest," Jack said. "I will be here if you need anything."

James nodded. "I must speak with Groves and Marshall," he murmured. "If they come, I wish to be wakened - no matter the hour. Will you do that for me, Jack?"

"Of course," Jack said. "No worries." To himself, he added, "We will just see about that."

He was familiar with the Navy's chain of command. There would be someone - Groves, most likely - designated to take over if the Commodore was incapacitated. And Jack was not going to allow James to suffer a setback if it could be avoided. If fever set in, the Navy could bloody well do without James Norrington until he was well again. Jack thought of the common room, with its complement of his men on duty, and grinned. No, nobody would disturb James's rest without the permission of Captain Jack Sparrow.  
************

Late that evening, Jack was startled out of a doze by a knock upon the chamber door. He opened to find Gibbs standing in the passage.

"There's two officers below," he said in a low voice. "They want to see him and they'll not take no for an answer."

"Their names?" Jack asked.

"Groves and Marshall," Gibbs replied. "The doctor's with 'em."

Jack nodded. "Send them up in five minutes, no sooner."

"Aye, Jack."

Jack went to the bed. James was asleep, but moving restlessly; his forehead - when Jack laid his palm upon it - was damp and very warm. At the touch of Jack's hand James opened his eyes.

"Jack? What is it?"

"You asked to be woken when Groves and Marshall got here," Jack said.

"Oh." James blinked. "Oh, yes, I did. Where are they?"

"They will be up in a moment. Doctor Selwyn is with them," Jack said.

James tried to sit up and fell back with a groan. "Weak as a kitten," he complained.

Jack made no answer, merely raising James and slipping pillows behind his back to prop him up. James sat with his eyes closed.

"Here," Jack said, "drink this." He handed James a glass of water.

"Thank you," James drank. "I will need to see them alone. Navy business."

Jack grinned at him as he took the empty glass. "No privateers or spies, is that it?"

James's lips thinned; he did not deign to reply. Jack chuckled. They heard footsteps on the stairs and Jack went to the door.

"Gentlemen," he nodded, admitting Captains Groves and Marshall, with Doctor Selwyn bringing up the rear. Groves and Marshall returned his nod and went directly to the bed; Selwyn stopped to look a question at Jack.

"Some fever," Jack said quietly. "He's slept but not eaten."

"Fever is to be expected," Selwyn replied. "I will examine him. Thank you, Captain Sparrow."

Jack left the chamber, closing the door behind him, and went down to the common room. It was full of his men and Anamaria's, drinking and laughing; the serving maids were rushing about, trying to keep up with orders that never seemed to cease. He made his way through the crowd - with a word and a smile for those he passed - until he reached the doors leading to the kitchen. Entering this sanctum, he found Sally Hobson and two more girls busily cooking for the unexpected influx of guests.

When she spotted Jack, Sally dusted the flour off her hands and greeted him with a smacking kiss. Without waiting to ask if he was hungry, she cleared a corner of the great table, set a place and pulled up a chair. In a twinkling Jack found himself sitting down to roast chicken, turnips, carrots and a hunk of fresh bread, with a flagon of ale to wash it down withal. He thanked her and tucked into this feast with no words wasted, while the work of roasting, baking and frying went on all around him.

When he had done with his meal, Jack spoke to Sally about sending a tray up to James's room, which she promised to do directly. Ale in hand, he strolled out once again into the common room to listen as Gibbs regaled his mates with yet another of his endless supply of tales. At the highly improbable conclusion of the story, Jack left his empty tankard on the bar and slipped upstairs.

As he put his hand on the latch, the door was opened from within and Groves came out, followed by Marshall. Marshall nodded to Jack and went past them and down the stairs. Groves pulled the door to and spoke.

"A moment, if you please, Captain Sparrow," he said.

"Yes, Captain Groves?" Jack replied. "Or should I call you Acting Commodore Groves?" He grinned.

"Captain will do," Groves replied, raising one eyebrow. His lips twitched. "I see you have anticipated me, Captain Sparrow. Commodore Norrington, on the advice of Doctor Selwyn, has appointed me to act as his deputy."

"A wise decision," Jack said. "The Commodore's in for a spell of fever, seemingly."

"I fear you are correct, sir," Groves replied, his face grave. He hesitated. "Doctor Selwyn assures me that the Commodore is in capable hands with you."

Jack bowed. "The doctor is very kind," he said blandly.

"Furthermore," Groves said, frowning as if he suspected Jack of mockery, "Commodore Norrington has expressed himself satisfied with his accommodations and with the arrangements you have made for his care. He does not wish to be moved at this time."

"Very gratifying." Jack's amusement was now unmistakable.

"It is for that reason _and for no other_," Groves went on, glancing pointedly at the staircase, from which the clamour in the common room could be heard, "that he will remain at this inn for the period of his convalescence, which, I trust, will be short."

Jack grinned. "Good choice, Captain Groves. I like a man with a grasp of the essentials."

"Let us understand one another, Captain Sparrow," Groves said, his patience obviously tried, "I recognize that your _privateers_, while technically answerable to the Navy for the duration of this expedition, obey your orders alone. It is, however, of the utmost importance that peaceful relations are maintained, in order that our work here goes forward with all possible speed. I shall therefore be blunt and point out that the force under my command outnumbers your men ten to one. Clashes would inevitably hurt you more than they would me, Captain Sparrow."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that, Captain Groves," Jack chuckled, in no way daunted by Groves's threat. "But, as it happens, I am in complete agreement with you. We shall have peace. Or, rather, if the peace is broken, it will not be my men who strike the first blow. You have my word."

"Very good, sir," Groves said, a little stiffly. It was clear he found Jack's insouciance irritating. "It would be best, I think, to keep the two forces separate as much as possible. To that end, I shall order that this inn is off limits to the Navy and that the tavern outside the gates of the fort is likewise forbidden to your men. Is this agreeable to you?"

"It is," Jack replied. "My men will frequent the Blue Turtle exclusively."

"Very well, then," Groves said. He bowed. "I take my leave of you, sir. I shall send in the morning to enquire after the Commodore's condition. Good night."

Jack watched him down the stairs before turning and entering the room. He found the doctor changing the dressing on James's wound.

"There you are, Captain Sparrow," he said, tying off the bandage. "I have persuaded the Commodore that he ought to eat something, to keep up his strength. Perhaps Mistress Hobson…"

There was a knock at the door and Sally entered with a laden tray.

"Ah," Selwyn smiled at Jack, who nodded with a grin. "I see that you have the matter well in hand. In that case, I will leave you to it." Turning to James, he said, "I shall come round again in the morning, Commodore."

"Thank you, Doctor," James replied, with a slight smile.

Selwyn picked up his bag and opened the door. "Good evening, gentlemen, Mistress Hobson."

Sally meanwhile had set her tray upon the table and was engaged in setting out a light supper.

"Here's a tasty broth for you sir, in this jug," she said cheerily. "I've wrapped it in a tea towel to keep warm. I brought you a mug to drink it with, seeing as how you've only got the use of one arm at present."

"You are very good," James said, smiling.

"Here's a nice, fresh loaf," Sally went on. "And a pat of butter to go with it. There's a bit of roast chicken, if you feel inclined to something more solid than soup. _And_ some wine."

She set the bottle and glasses down with a flourish and stood back, beaming.

"Thank you, Mistress Hobson," James said. "This looks delicious."

"I'll leave you to your supper, then," Sally said. "Ring if you need anything."

"Thanks, Sal," Jack blew her a kiss and she left with a chuckle, calling him a rogue.

"Soup first?" Jack asked.

"Yes, please," James nodded. "I didn't think I was hungry but that smells wonderful."

"Sally can cook," Jack replied. He placed the tray across James's knees and set a mug of soup upon it, along with a slice of bread.

In the end, James drank two mugs of broth, ate a little of the chicken, and some bread. When he had finished, Jack cleared away the tray and poured them each a glass of wine.

"So," he said, sitting in the chair and propping his heels on the mattress. "Captain Groves tells me you're on sick leave, so to speak."

"Yes," James replied, sipping his wine. "I thought it best. There is a very great deal to be seen to over the next days; it requires personal supervision and considerable energy. As much as the admission galls me, I am not fit for duty just yet."

"Between Selwyn's doctoring and Sally's good food, we'll have you on your feet in no time," Jack grinned. "No worries, mate. There will still be pirates for you to fight."

By coincidence, just as Jack mentioned pirates, there was a burst of noise from below - raucous laughter and the clatter of cups beating upon tables. James glanced sidelong at Jack, found himself being watched and looked hastily away. There was a thoughtful pause.

James finished his wine and leaned his head back against the pillows. "I am tired," he said.

Jack took his empty glass and removed the extra pillows so that he could lie down. When James was settled, Jack placed the remains of his supper on the tray and set it outside the door for the maid to collect.

He then pulled the truckle bed out - Sally had made it up when she had prepared the room - and turned it down.

"You will sleep here?" James asked, somewhat surprised.

"Where else?" Jack replied. "Doctor Selwyn feels - and I agree with him - that you should not be left alone quite yet." Seeing James frown, he added, "All part of my clever plan to put the Navy in my debt, remember? You played very neatly into my hands when you got yourself shot, Commodore."

James raised an eyebrow; his lips quirked and Jack laughed.

"Shall I read to you?" he asked, drawing a book out of his coat pocket. James saw that it was one from the Spanish library. "Robinson Crusoe," Jack said, resuming his seat and placing the candlestick on the floor, so that the rays were shielded from James's eyes.

"Thank you, Jack," James said. "I am much obliged."

Jack winked at him and opened the book and began to read. _"I was born in the year 1632, in the city of York, of a good family, though not of that country, my father being a foreigner of Bremen, who settled first at Hull. He got a good estate…"_

He read for some time, keeping meanwhile an unobtrusive watch on James, whose eyes gradually closed as the combined effects of supper, wine and Jack's low voice, on top of his wound and the fever, made it impossible to keep awake. Jack let his voice trail off into silence. James did not stir.

Putting aside his book, Jack felt James's pulse and his forehead. The fever was up, but not yet very high. "Now, if it will just stay that way and go no higher," Jack muttered. "We will see what the morning brings." He drew off his boots, shrugged out of his coat, then stretched himself out on the truckle bed and fell instantly into sleep.


	17. Aboard the Vengeance, at sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will deals with the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: T

Will Turner prowled his quarterdeck, brooding. From time to time he went to the rail to watch the repairs in progress aboard the _Trident_, hove to a short distance downwind. The _Vengeance_ and the _Devil's Lass_ had caught up with her - listing, rudderless, and with her rigging in a pitiable state - several hours after the battle. The men laboured now - a full day later - to jury-rig a rudder. They had patched the worst of the holes in her hull already; what remained could be handled by the pumps until they reached a safe port.

The rigging of all three ships had suffered, though none so much as the _Trident_, and every man not working on the rudder was knotting and splicing as if their lives depended upon it, which, of course, they did. They had replaced the foretopmast on the _Vengeance_ this morning.

There had been no immediate pursuit. Indeed, Will had expected none, although he'd doubled the watch, to be safe. The Navy - and that fucking turncoat Sparrow - were no doubt even now safe in George Town Harbour, celebrating and taking their sweet time refitting.

Will ground his teeth. He hated to think of it. He'd hurt them yesterday, but not nearly so badly as they had hurt him. The _Gryphon_ captured, the _Trident_ rendered all but useless - oh, the score against Jack Sparrow was growing great indeed. For, Will knew full well, Sparrow's treachery had been the deciding factor in the battle. When the _Black Pearl_ and that hellish little brig had joined the fight on the side of the Navy, their victory was assured.

Let them celebrate, Will thought. His was still a force to be reckoned with. After all, hadn't he sunk one of their ships, dismasted another, and come within mere hours of taking Fort George? He would strike them again and again; he would not give up until Sparrow was dead, the _Pearl_ was his and - why not? - the Navy fleet was destroyed.

Will sent across to hurry the work on the _Trident_. "Tell them we sail tomorrow, with or without her," he said.

"To Tortuga, Captain?" his quartermaster asked.

"No, it's too far," Will shook his head. "We'll refit at Montego Bay."

"Aye, sir."

Alone again, he looked to where Grand Cayman lay just below the horizon in the northeast. "Before you expect me, I will be back, Sparrow," Will whispered, "And then you will die."


	18. Port Royal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm not waiting for the next messenger," Elizabeth said. "I shall go to him immediately."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: G

Elizabeth Norrington sat on the terrace, sipped her coffee, and gazed out to sea. The bay, sparkling in the morning sun, was empty of all but fishing boats. She sighed and told herself to be patient.

Today was the day that she and Mary Groves had fixed upon as the earliest date possible for news from George Town to reach Port Royal, and she struggled against an unreasonable disappointment. Many things, by no means all of them bad, could have delayed the messenger. It might be days yet before they heard anything.

The sound of her carriage drawing up in front of the house reminded Elizabeth of the time and she went inside to get her hat. Every morning since the fleet sailed had been spent with Mary, whose spirits were much oppressed, although she struggled bravely to get the better of her melancholy. In addition to her fears for her husband, she had been frightened by a fever the baby had suffered for two days a week ago. Nurse, who had been nurse to three generations of the family, had insisted, with the experience of a long lifetime, that it was a trifling illness, but Mary would not be comforted. It had seemed to her that the babe was desperately ill and she had hardly left his side for days. But the fever passed, as such things often do, with no ill effects and Baby was once again thriving.

And so today Elizabeth was taking Mary for a drive. She thought perhaps the change of scene would refresh her friend and give her mind a more cheerful turn. Most days they sewed together or read to each other or strolled in the garden, but these occupations were no longer sufficient to keep poor Mary from fretting. Elizabeth's suggestion that they call upon some of the other officers' wives had been received with something so like enthusiasm that Elizabeth hoped the outing would indeed prove efficacious.

She went down the front steps and seated herself in the carriage. "To the Groves's," she said.  
***********

Later that afternoon Elizabeth sat in the shade of the bougainvillea arbour, mending forgotten in her lap. The round of visits that morning had done wonders for Mary Groves and, she had to admit, for herself. They had been met everywhere with kindness and unspoken understanding. Some of the older wives - Mrs. Marshall especially - were, of course, far more accustomed to waiting for news of battles than either Mary or Elizabeth could be. Their calm and no-nonsense outlook could not help but soothe the worn nerves of the younger women. Mary had returned to her home and her baby with an almost light-hearted step and a smile on her lips. Now, Elizabeth thought, if they could only get news - _good_ news - before all the benefit of the excursion had worn off.

The afternoon was very warm and the breeze light and fitful. Elizabeth leaned back, feeling far too lazy for sewing, and watched the cloud shadows move across the bay and over Portland Head. She drowsed…

The crunch of feet upon the shell-covered garden path woke her. Her father was approaching, walking slowly down from the terrace. Elizabeth jumped up, as embarrassed to be caught napping as if she were still a schoolgirl, dozing over her lessons.

"Father," she cried. She ran to greet him with a kiss and drew him to sit with her on the bench, out of the hot sun. "It is so good to see you. But why so early? Were we not to have dined together?"

"Elizabeth, my dear," he replied, taking her hand. "I have news. A corvette bearing despatches arrived from Fort George this afternoon."

And she, foolishly, had been sleeping and not seen it arrive! Elizabeth caught her breath. "And?"

"It is victory. The pirates were defeated and fled, all save one ship that was made captive," Swann replied.

"Victory!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Then all is well!" Her joy was checked when she saw that her father did not seem to share it. "Father?"

"There is more, my child," he said, gently.

Elizabeth felt as if a hand were squeezing her heart; a chill as of icy water poured down her spine. She leant forward with staring eyes, terrible fears crowding so thick that she could scarcely breathe. "Tell me," she whispered, voice shaking. "Father, for the love of God, _tell me_! Is it… Surely, you don't mean that James…?"

"James was wounded, Elizabeth," her father said, holding her hands in a firm clasp. "He was shot during the battle. The injury is serious; when the courier left he was in a fever but expected to recover."

"Wounded?" Elizabeth could not think clearly. "Serious," she said. "_How_ serious? What happened?"

"A musket ball struck him in the shoulder," Swann replied, "but the physician extracted it and was able to determine that no vital organ was touched."

"But he was in a fever?"

"It is not uncommon in the case of gunshot wounds, Elizabeth," Swann said. "With luck, by this time James will be on the mend." His heart was wrung by the stricken look in his daughter's eyes; he let go of her hands and put his arms around her, holding her close. She was trembling; long shudders wracked her as if she was the one with fever.

"Come, my darling, you must be brave. Do not give up hope," he murmured against her hair. "James is receiving the best possible care, you may be sure of it. No doubt when the next messenger arrives we will hear good news of him."

"I'm not waiting for the next messenger," Elizabeth said, her voice muffled against the breast of his coat. "I shall go to him immediately."

"What? But Elizabeth…"

"No 'buts', Father," Elizabeth said, raising her head to look at him. "I am going to George Town." She freed herself from his embrace and sat up, smoothing her skirts with hands that were not steady. There was a mulish set to her jaw and determination in every line of her.

"And how do you propose to get there?" her father asked, dismayed.

"The corvette will be returning to Fort George, will it not?" Elizabeth replied. "I shall go with it."

"Surely, you know that will not be permitted," he expostulated. "It is against regulations."

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "Such regulations are ignored more often than not, Father," she said. "And they would not dream of denying the request - if it came from _you_."

"From me," Swann cried. "You expect me to assist you to an act so imprudent?"

"Yes," she said, "I do."

"What if I refuse?" he asked.

"Then I will hire one of the trading vessels to take me," Elizabeth replied, without a blink. She took his hand in both of hers and looked coaxingly up at him. "But surely, Father, you would not be so cruel. I _must_ go to James, don't you see? I would go quite mad with waiting, were I forced to stay in Port Royal. Please help me to go to him. Please?"

The Governor looked at the brown eyes, now brimming with tears, that looked so pleadingly into his own and sighed. He knew his daughter too well to think that anything short of locking her in one of the cells in Fort Charles would prevent her from carrying out her threat to sail aboard an island trader if she could not travel on the Navy vessel. All in all, she would be far safer with the Navy. He sighed again.

"Very well, Elizabeth," he said, shaking his head at her, "I will send a note to Lieutenant McCartney requesting that he allow you to sail aboard the next official vessel bound for George Town."

"Thank you, Father," she cried, kissing him and leaping to her feet. "I must see to packing immediately, so as to be ready."

As they walked up to the house, Elizabeth holding herself with an effort to her Father's more measured pace, her mind was racing. She was thinking of what she would take with her, of notes she must write before she left, of engagements to be cancelled, when she suddenly remembered Mary Groves - waiting, as she had been, for word of her husband.

"Father," she said, "What news of Captain Groves?" She felt like a wretch for not thinking to ask sooner.

"He is unharmed, my dear," her father replied. "In fact, he is in temporary command of the fleet until James is well enough to resume his duties."

"Oh, that is happy news indeed!" Elizabeth cried, glad to hear some unalloyed good tidings for once. "I must let Mary know."

"No need," Swann smiled. "I sent a note to her as soon as I got the despatches. It would have been needlessly cruel to keep her in suspense."

"Oh, Father, thank you," Elizabeth said, squeezing his arm. "You are very kind."

The Governor smiled and shook his head as they stepped into the cool of the house.

The next afternoon, Elizabeth went aboard the Navy corvette and they set sail for Grand Cayman.


	19. At the Blue Turtle, George Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth meets Jack. Sparks fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: T

The officer who came to the harbour at sunset to meet the corvette _Swift_ upon its return from Port Royal was taken aback to see a woman standing on the deck, shading her eyes and gazing at the town. It was only as she came down the gangplank and walked along the quay toward him, that he recognized her and his mild annoyance at a breach of regulations became astonished dismay.

"Mrs. Norrington," he exclaimed as she drew near. "What are you… I mean, how did…"

"Good evening, Lieutenant Parker," Elizabeth said, ignoring the young man's stammering confusion. "I wish to see my husband. Take me to him, if you please."

But, Mrs. Norrington, I don't think…"

"Where is he, Lieutenant? At the fort or aboard the _Dauntless_?"

"Neither, ma'am. He is…" Parker stopped as Elizabeth went white beneath her shipboard tan.

"Oh, good God," she whispered.

"No," Parker cried, more embarrassed than ever. "No, no, ma'am! It is not what you think. The Commodore lives. He is alive."

Elizabeth drew a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, their expression made the unfortunate Parker take an involuntary step backward.

"In that case, Lieutenant," she said, in a careful voice, "may I suggest that you instantly do as I ask and take me to him?"

"Yes, ma'am," Parker replied, miserably. He led the way up the street, reflecting that the Commodore's lady was very nearly as formidable as her husband.

When they reached the door of the Blue Turtle the lieutenant stopped, mindful of the General Order barring any man below the rank of Post Captain from entering the inn.

Elizabeth surveyed the tidy, if weather-beaten, front of the building, with its faded blue sign swaying in the evening breeze.

"The Commodore is here?" she asked.

"He is, ma'am," Parker nodded.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Elizabeth furled her sunshade and walked to the door. Turning, she said, "Please have my trunks brought from the _Swift_. I will be stopping here."

"Yes, ma'am," Parker replied as she stepped through the doorway and out of his sight. He hurried back to the quay, shaking his head. What Captain Groves would make of this development he could not guess, but he did not look forward with any pleasure to being the one to tell him about it.

Elizabeth walked into the smoky common room of the Blue Turtle and stopped as the patrons fell silent. She looked around; the place was half full of as unprepossessing a collection of rascals as she had ever encountered, even on her visits to the island trading vessels that docked in Port Royal. There was not a Naval uniform to be seen. She waited, expecting the innkeeper to attend her, but instead a tall, burly sailor with graying hair and bushy side-whiskers rose from his seat near the bar and approached somewhat diffidently. There was something vaguely familiar about him.

"Miss Elizabeth?" he asked, sounding as surprised as she felt when she heard his voice, with its faint hint of Ireland.

"_Mister Gibbs_?" she exclaimed. "Can it really be you?"

"Aye, tis me, right enough, Miss Elizabeth," Gibbs replied. "Fancy you remembering me after all these years."

"But you are not in uniform," Elizabeth said. "Are you no longer in the Navy?"

Gibbs coughed. "Well, no, Miss," he said. "The Navy and me had what you might call a falling out, not long after the voyage what brought you and the Governor to Jamaica."

"I see," she replied. And she did see - desertions were common enough - but forbore to question him further.

"But what are you doing here, Miss Elizabeth? So far from home and all." Gibbs asked.

"I am Mrs. Norrington now," Elizabeth said. "And I am here to see my husband. Where is someone who can conduct me to him? I do not see the host."

"Missus Norrington, eh?" said Gibbs, looking at first surprised and then amused. "You don't say. Well now, no need to bother Hobson; I'll take ye to the Commodore. Nothin' easier. Step this way, if you please." And he led her to the stairs.

In the corridor on the first floor Gibbs stopped at a door at the front of the house and knocked softly as he lifted the latch and pushed it open.

"Missus Norrington," he announced as Elizabeth stepped into the room.

Elizabeth's eyes went instantly to the bed and she flew across the room, taking no notice of Gibbs as he shut the door and went back downstairs, nor paying any attention to the man in a dark coat standing at the head of the bed.

James lay unconscious - flushed and sweating. His head moved restlessly on the pillow and his brow was furrowed. His lips were dry and cracked; from time to time he licked them in a fruitless search for moisture. Elizabeth leant over him, feeling his forehead, which burned under her palm.

"Oh, my darling," she whispered. She took his hand in both of hers. "James. James, can you hear me? It's Elizabeth."

"He cannot hear you, ma'am," said the man on the other side of the bed. "He is delirious."

Elizabeth looked up to find herself the subject of an appraising gaze. Bristling at the impertinence, she stared back, taking in the gold in the stranger's ears and noting that his coat, while plain, was of silk broadcloth with carved silver buttons. Not a servant, then.

"Are you the doctor, sir?" she asked sharply.

He bowed; face solemn while his dark eyes laughed at her. "Captain Jack Sparrow, ma'am, at your service," he replied.

"But where is the doctor?" Elizabeth demanded. "Why is he not here? My husband is very ill!"

"Doctor Selwyn was here not half an hour ago," he said, soothingly. "And he will return in the morning."

Elizabeth was incredulous. "And who is caring for my husband while he is absent?" she cried, her voice rising. "Where is the nurse?"

Captain Sparrow shrugged. "There are no nurses on this island; the settlement is very small," he explained.

"Then I ask again," she insisted. "Who is to care for my husband until the doctor returns?"

Sparrow bowed again. "I have that honour, ma'am."

"I do not understand how this can be," Elizabeth felt that she had strayed into a nightmare. "You are not a doctor."

"Nor am I," Jack replied, "but I have considerable experience with gunshot wounds. I have looked after the Commodore since he was injured and Doctor Selwyn is pleased to approve of my ability."

At this moment, there was a knock and two sailors from the _Swift_ came in with her trunks. When they had gone, Elizabeth - somewhat more composed - turned to Jack and raised her chin.

"Thank you for your kind offices, Captain Sparrow," she said, rather haughtily. "But I believe we must not trespass upon your time any longer. I shall be staying in this room until my husband is recovered and will nurse him myself."

"Old hand at such things as you are," Jack murmured.

Elizabeth pressed her lips together and ignored the taunt. "Good night, Captain Sparrow," she snapped.

"Mrs. Norrington." Jack left the room and Elizabeth turned back to the bed, watching James's face intently. She felt his forehead; it seemed hotter and she wished very much that the doctor would come tonight. Pouring some water into the washbasin, she dipped a cloth in it and bathed James's brow. She did not know what else to do.

Suddenly she heard footsteps in the corridor and the door opened to admit Jack, followed by Hobson and the potboy, carrying a cane daybed; at Jack's direction they set it down in front of the hearth and tiptoed out. Sally Hobson followed, with a pillow and an armload of blankets, which she spread out on the daybed. Then she too left the room, closing the door behind her.

"What is the meaning of this, Captain Sparrow?" Elizabeth demanded.

Jack grinned at her and she caught the gleam of gold. "Why," he said, "Since the truckle bed is now - I presume - yours, I need a place to sleep. Unless, of course, you intended for me to share…?" At her outraged look he chuckled. "No, I thought not."

Elizabeth drew herself up. "You are offensive, sir," she said, her tone frosty.

Intentionally, I assure you." Jack bowed with another grin.

"You will leave this room, Captain Sparrow," Elizabeth declared. "At once!"

Jack walked around her and to the head of the bed. His glance was almost contemptuous. "No, Mrs. Norrington," he replied. "I will not."

"This is insufferable!" Elizabeth cried. "I shall have you removed." She went to the bell.

"By whom?" he asked, amused. "The host and his wife are old friends and every man in the common room is one of mine."

Elizabeth glared at him and had opened her mouth to reply when she was startled by a moan from James. Forgetting Sparrow in that instant, she rushed to the bedside and took her husband's hand.

"Elizabeth," James mumbled, his eyes closed.

"I am here, my love," she said, "James, I am here."

James's eyes flew open and he stared at her; there was no recognition in his gaze. "Where is Elizabeth?" he asked, very clearly.

"I am here, darling." She clasped his hand in both of hers. "See? I am right here," she said in a shaking voice.

"I must go to her," James said, twisting his hand, trying to free himself. Succeeding, he threw back the covers and attempted to sit up. "I must go to Elizabeth. I must tell her…"

Elizabeth, wide-eyed with fear, tried to make him lie back, but he swept her aside and swung his legs off the bed as if he would rise.

So quickly he hardly seemed to move, Jack Sparrow was around the bed and at her side. He pressed James back against the pillows. Bending quickly, he took the sick man's ankles and lifted his feet back onto the bed, neatly foiling James's continued efforts to stand.

"I must…" James said, plucking at Jack's hands that were once again holding him down. "Must go…"

"And so you shall," Jack said, matter-of-factly. "But not just at present. It is nighttime, you see. You must wait until morning."

His tone seemed to soothe James's agitation. James nodded and his eyes slid closed. Jack covered him with the sheet. Going around again to the stand on the other side of the bed, he poured a glass of water. Then, half-sitting on the mattress, he lifted James and propped him against his shoulder and held the glass against his lips. James drank without opening his eyes, sighing when the water was gone. Jack lowered him once again to the pillows. In so doing he glanced up at Elizabeth, still standing against the wall where James had thrust her.

"It is as I said before," he remarked. "Your husband is delirious. He did not know it was you."

Elizabeth nodded, calm but clearly shaken. "Yes, Captain Sparrow," she replied. "I understand that. I have seen delirium before." She took a step forward and rested her palms lightly on the bed; she glanced down and then up, swallowing nervously.

"Thank you for your assistance just now," she said, looking him in the eye. "I see that the doctor was right to entrust my husband to your care. I… I could not have prevented him from leaving his bed."

The apology plainly cost her something to make and Jack acknowledged it with a slight bow for once devoid of mockery. He went to the bell.

"He will rest more quietly for a space, although we've not seen the last of such behaviour, I fear," he said. "Accordingly, I shall take this opportunity to have some supper. Will you join me?"

Elizabeth nodded. Sparrow's assumption of the rôle of host irritated her, but her very real gratitude for his assistance in the recent crisis was sufficient to prevent her giving voice to her annoyance. In addition, she was, she found, rather hungry.

A short time later, they sat down to one of Sally Hobson's good, if simple, meals. They ate in silence for a space until Elizabeth, who could not keep her eyes from James, asked, "Has he been like this for long?"

Jack shook his head. "No," he replied. "The fever came on two nights ago, after he had spent the day out of bed - against the doctor's orders. Before that, he had been recovering very well."

"But, surely, he has not been out of his senses for two days?" she exclaimed.

"He was quite lucid until just a few hours ago," Jack replied, refilling her wine glass. "When the fever rose rather suddenly. Doctor Selwyn is of the opinion that the crisis will come tonight. There is naught to do now but wait."

Elizabeth shivered as the word 'crisis' sent a chill through her. It was a bitter thought that James would have known she was at his side, had she arrived a day - or, even, half a day - earlier. What if she had missed her last chance to…? She snatched the thought back and crushed it. James would recover, she told herself fiercely, he _would_.

She tore her eyes away from the still figure on the bed and took a sip of wine. Then she forced herself to take a bite of bread. The actions, the normalcy of them, helped to calm her. Gradually her heart ceased to pound and she was able to breathe again. She went on with her meal.

To keep from staring at her husband, Elizabeth studied the man across the table from her; observing him covertly, trying to make him out. He was, she saw, good-looking in a swarthy and somewhat rakish way. His features were unusual, exotic even. His speech bore traces of refinement, although overlaid with a deplorably common accent, and yet his table manners were good and he bore himself for the most part like a gentleman. She wondered who he was; she had never heard his name before.

Jack looked up at that moment and caught her staring; he raised his brows in silent question.

Elizabeth, embarrassed, hastened into speech. "You are not a Naval officer, Captain Sparrow, I think?" she asked.

Jack's eyes glinted with what might have been amusement. "No ma'am," he replied. "I am a privateer; Captain of the _Black Pearl_."

"What!?" she cried, shocked. "But that is a…"

"Pirate ship?" Jack finished for her. He smiled. "No longer. I took her from the late Captain Barbossa this spring."

"I see." So, he was a privateer. Elizabeth glanced at Jack thoughtfully; this explained a good deal. Sparrow's appearance, for one thing - his fondness for gold in his ears and mouth, and the outlandish way he darkened his eyes. Also, the disreputable appearance of the men downstairs - his crew - and the presence of Mister Gibbs, a naval deserter, was now made clear to her. But still it did not account for his attendance upon her husband.

Privateers, according to James, were a necessary evil; he tolerated but did not encourage them, for all that some of them had been uncommonly helpful against the Spanish. They were, James said, merely adventurers who operated just this side of the law, and not infrequently slipped over the line into piracy themselves.

"Then how is it that you are here, Captain Sparrow?" she asked after a short pause.

"My ships fought in the recent battle on the side of the Navy," Jack said, leaning back in his chair, with amusement writ plain upon his face. He chuckled. "A marriage of convenience, you could call it, that allowed us to defeat a foe that would have overwhelmed either of us singly."

Elizabeth glanced at James and back to Jack. "But," she began.

"Ah," Jack interrupted her. "You mean how did I get _here_ in this room, eh? Since it was my _Pearl_ that pulled your husband out of the water, and seeing as how the Commodore was pleased to approve of the care we took of him on the trip back to George Town, well, one thing led to another, you might say."

"_You_ saved my husband's life?" Elizabeth asked.

Jack bowed. "I had that honour," he replied. "Oh, I am certain the _Dauntless_ would have managed it in due time, but we were to windward and able to reach him first."

Elizabeth digested this information. "It seems we are deeply in your debt, Captain Sparrow," she said at last.

"So it seems," Jack agreed. "More wine?"

"No, I thank you," Elizabeth replied, rising. Sparrow's tone verged on impertinent. Mindful that she needed his help, although it galled her to admit it, she walked away lest she call him to book for his manners. She pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down, taking James's good hand in hers. She closed her eyes and prayed for her husband's life to be spared.

Movement nearby made her open her eyes to see Sparrow drawing his chair up to the bed opposite her. He tipped it back on two legs, placed one heel upon the covers and crossed the other over it. Then he pulled a book out of his coat pocket and was soon absorbed in reading.

Time crawled. The innkeeper's wife - Sally Hobson, Sparrow called her - came and cleared away the dinner things and brought tea, for which Elizabeth was profoundly grateful and said so.

"Why thank you, madam," Mistress Hobson beamed, dropping a curtsey. "It's my pleasure, I'm sure. If there's anything ye lack, just ring."

More hours passed, during which Elizabeth, despite herself, dozed from time to time. The room was close and the sounds from downstairs muted as the night wore on.

Presently, James began once more to be agitated. He rolled his head from side to side and spoke, but the words were indistinct.

Sparrow laid aside his book and set briskly to work. He raised James and gave him another drink of water - with some difficulty this time, for James resisted - and plumped his pillows before lowering him once more to the bed. Jack then pulled aside his nightshirt to check the dressing on the wound. James meanwhile was becoming more and more restless, trying to pull the bandage off his shoulder and attempting to rise from the bed.

Elizabeth watched as Sparrow was obliged to use considerable effort to prevent James from doing himself a mischief. It was frightening to see her husband like this, ill and helpless - out of his head with fever. Sparrow was speaking in a low, calm voice, attempting to soothe his patient even as he restrained him.

Elizabeth frowned. Something was not right with the scene before her; she could not put her finger on what it was. Sparrow was a very competent nurse; there was nothing _wrong_ in what he was doing for James, as far as she could tell, so why did watching them make her uncomfortable? _Intimacy_. She held her breath and watched more closely. That was it. There was nothing impersonal in Sparrow's touch; his hands held James's arms almost tenderly. The way _she_ would touch him; the way a lover would. She gasped.

Horrified speculation raced through her thoughts even as James grew momentarily still. With disastrous clarity, he spoke again.

"Jack," he said.

"Right here, mate," Sparrow replied.

"Stay," James whispered and closed his eyes with a sigh, seeming to fall once more into a restless sleep.

"M'not going anywhere," Sparrow said, softly, releasing James's arms and smoothing the covers, which had been disarranged in the struggle.

Elizabeth held herself rigidly still, her eyes on her folded hands. All her will was bent on concealing the awful knowledge that had burst upon her with the suddenness and force of a lightning bolt.

_She had a rival. Jack Sparrow._

And like a lightning bolt, that illuminates every tiniest detail in one blinding flash, this revelation had cast its pitiless and lurid light upon the events of the past two months. The dreadful significance of so much that had puzzled her about James's state of mind was now made inescapably clear.

How ironic that - when she had considered the possibility that her husband had taken a lover - she had dismissed the notion out of hand, for James had never, in all the years she had known him, looked upon another woman in the way he looked at her. He had never given her the least cause for alarm, never flirted nor paid court to any woman save her. That James might betray her with a man had never entered her imagination.

Suddenly, she remembered the Simmersons' ball. She recalled James's anger over her costume: dark green coat, buff breeches, tall boots, golden earrings and - God help her - kohl-rimmed eyes. She wanted to clap her hands over her ears as she heard herself ask him, '_Can't you love a pirate_?' and remembered what followed. Oh dear God in Heaven, she thought, stunned, and bit back a sob.

There was a roaring in her ears and for a moment she could not breathe. She heard _that man_ speaking, asking her if she was well and her hands curled upon themselves until her fingernails bit into her palms. The pain steadied her and she drew a deep breath.

"Mrs. Norrington," Sparrow said again, "Are you well? Would you like me to get you something?"

Pride came to her rescue; she would not - _would not_ \- give way before her enemy. If she could not yet meet his eye, at least she could speak calmly.

"I am well, thank you," she said, pleased at the coolness of her tone. "It was a passing faintness only."

"Delirium is not a pretty sight," Sparrow replied. "But I've a feeling that we are over the worst of it. If the fever's going to break, it will do so before dawn, which is barely an hour off."

Elizabeth nodded. She did not know if he saw, nor did she care; she had no intention of speaking to him more than was absolutely necessary.

Silence fell as the minutes ticked by and Elizabeth laboured for calm. How had this come about? She had heard tales of voudoun spells that drove those so enchanted to unnatural lusts. Had Sparrow somehow bewitched her husband? Fruitless to waste time guessing, she told herself.

The one important fact was that she would not let this… this _interloper_ steal her husband from her. Whatever her previous mistakes - and she winced yet again as the ball flashed once more before her eyes - she would fight with every fibre of her being to keep James. No half-outlaw privateer was going to defeat Elizabeth Norrington.

As the window, which faced east, began to show the first faint hints of grey, James gave a great sigh and stopped his restless twitching. Elizabeth and Sparrow both leapt to their feet. James's chest rose and fell slowly and regularly. His brow was cool and dry and his pulse even. The fever had broken at last, just as the doctor and Sparrow had foretold.

Elizabeth brushed the sweaty hair off James's forehead and kissed his temple, tears of relief and exhaustion pricking her eyelids. Her prayers were granted; her husband would live.

"He'll do now," Sparrow said. "Time to get some rest ourselves before the doctor arrives."

Elizabeth nodded without looking at him. She pulled out the trundle bed, quietly so as not to disturb James, and turned back the covers. She took the pins from her hair and lay down as she was. She heard Sparrow's boots drop one by one to the floor and then the creak of the day bed and he, too, lay down.

"Good night, Mrs. Norrington," he said.

"Good night, Captain Sparrow," Elizabeth replied.  
*************

It was barely eight o'clock when a knock upon the chamber door woke Elizabeth. She sat up, gritty-eyed and momentarily confused. James! She reached up to touch his forehead, as he lay, still sound asleep, in the bed above her. It was cool and she breathed a sigh of relief. Looking around she saw that the daybed was empty and Sparrow was nowhere in sight.

The knock was repeated and Elizabeth scrambled to her feet and opened the door. Sally Hobson stood there, smiling broadly and holding a covered tray.

"Brought you some breakfast, Missus Norrington," she said, squeezing past Elizabeth to set her burden down on the table. "Doctor Selwyn's downstairs, breakin' his fast with Jack, before coming up to examine the Commodore," she went on cheerfully. "So I reckoned you'd like a little bite to eat as well."

Sally uncovered the tray, from which a delicate steam was rising, to reveal bacon and eggs, a fresh roll with butter and jam, and a pot of coffee, with sugar and cream.

"It looks delicious, Mistress Hobson," Elizabeth said. "Thank you for being so thoughtful."

"Oh, don't thank me," Sally laughed. "It was Jack Sparrow sent this up. 'Sal, you take a tray to Missus Norrington and be quick about it' he said to me first thing when he come downstairs, afore I'd even time to ask if you was comin' down to breakfast."

"Did he?" Elizabeth replied. "Well, then, thank you, at any rate, for bringing it. This is very welcome."

Sally bobbed a curtsey and withdrew.

Elizabeth poured a cup of coffee and then did her best to pin up her hair without benefit of maid or mirror. Satisfied at last, she sat down to eat, wishing to be done with her meal before the doctor arrived. Indeed, she had barely finished when she heard footsteps upon the stairs.

Doctor Selwyn bowed with an old-fashioned courtesy over the hand she held out to him, saying as he did so, "My word, Mrs. Norrington, but I am very pleased to see you here. I am sure the Commodore will be the better for having you nearby."

Elizabeth, looking over the doctor's shoulder, surprised a flash of irritation on Sparrow's face and smiled warmly at Selwyn.

"I am delighted to meet you, Doctor," she replied.

"Now, then," Selwyn said, "Let me have a look at my patient. Captain Sparrow tells me the fever has broken. A very hopeful sign, indeed it is."

The doctor moved to the bed and took James's pulse, nodding in a pleased fashion. At the touch of Selwyn's fingers on his wrist, James stirred and opened his eyes, blinking dazedly.

"Good morning, Commodore," Selwyn greeted him. "I take it you are feeling a little better this morning?"

James nodded without speaking, a slight smile turning up the corners of his mouth. A movement on the other side of the bed caught his eye and he turned his head, eyes widening as they lit upon his wife.

"Elizabeth?" he whispered, incredulously.

Elizabeth took his hand, swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, and nodded. "Yes, darling," she said, smiling. "It is I."

"Not a dream?" James replied. "I dreamt you were here."

Elizabeth laughed a little giddily, overjoyed to have James once again in his right mind. "Not a dream," she assured him, squeezing his hand tightly to reassure him of her presence. "I arrived late yesterday."

Doctor Selwyn, who had watched this exchange with approval, now began to remove the bandage from James's shoulder. "Let us see how this is coming along, sir," he said as he worked.

Elizabeth continued to hold James's hand - she could not have forced herself to let it go for any reason on earth - while the doctor examined the wound and declared himself satisfied with James's progress.

"Indeed, sir," Selwyn said drily, giving James a stern look as he tied a fresh dressing in place, "You are very fortunate. By rights, your insistence upon rising before it was advisable to do so could have had the gravest possible consequences - the very gravest. As it is, while you have suffered a bout of fever that will delay your recovery, your stubborn imprudence - for so I must call it, being a plain-spoken man - has done no injury to your shoulder."

James smiled. "I assure you, Doctor," he whispered, "That I have learnt my lesson and will henceforth be more tractable."

"See that you are, sir, or I shall wash my hands of you." Selwyn's answering smile mitigated the severity of this rebuke. "With your good lady and Captain Sparrow to look after you, I trust we will have you on your feet again soon enough. In the meantime, you must rest."

James nodded sleepily. "Yes, Doctor," he whispered and he was suddenly asleep.

Doctor Selwyn chuckled. "Nature will not be gainsaid, you see," he said. Turning to take both Elizabeth and Jack in his glance he went on, "Sleep is exactly what is required. But he must eat soon, if he is to regain his strength; nothing too heavy at first. Mistress Hobson knows what is needed. And keep him quiet - no visitors for at least two days. I shall return tomorrow at this hour to check on his progress."

Elizabeth thanked him again and then smiled brightly at Jack. "Oh, Captain Sparrow, would you be good enough to see Doctor Selwyn out? Thank you." And she turned back to James, but not before she had the satisfaction of seeing the quick frown crease Sparrow's brow.  
************

Shortly after noon, as Elizabeth sat before the window, sewing, James stirred and yawned. Jack, who had been reading at the bedside, quickly poured some broth into a cup from the jug that stood ready on the table.

He bent over James in such a way that Elizabeth could not see her husband's face and spoke quietly, "About time you woke." Elizabeth heard a ghost of a chuckle from James. "Hungry?" Sparrow asked.

"A little," James said, his voice still weak.

"Drink this," Sparrow replied. "It'll put strength in you."

There was a pause while James sipped the broth. Then he spoke again. "Has Groves been here?" he asked. "The fleet…"

"Not your concern, mate," Jack interrupted him. "You're to rest, remember?"

"Tyrant," James whispered.

"And don't you forget it," Sparrow chuckled. "Go back to sleep."

James sighed. "So tired," he said.

Sparrow straightened and turned to place the empty cup on the nightstand. Elizabeth could see that James's eyes were closed. He had not asked for her, which stung, although it was not surprising, considering that he was too weak yet to be fully rational. She eyed Sparrow's back, never doubting for an instant that he had blocked James's view of her deliberately.

Sparrow resumed his seat and took up his book; the afternoon went on in silence.  
************

It was early evening when James woke again. Elizabeth and Jack had changed places - he was reading by the window while she sat next to the bed.

James opened his eyes, saw Elizabeth and smiled. "Good afternoon, wife," he said, sounding a little stronger.

"Good afternoon, husband," Elizabeth replied, returning his smile. She rose and pressed a kiss on his forehead. "How do you feel?" she asked.

"As if I have been rolled out thin as paper and left to dry in the sun, if you want the truth," James replied. "And hungry," he added, with a small grin.

"Hungry is a good sign," Jack said, coming up on the other side of the bed. "With a little feeding you'll begin to feel more substantial in no time."

"Jack?" James frowned, confused. "You _are_ here! But, I thought I dreamt…" He looked from Jack to Elizabeth and back; his confusion gave way to alarm.

It was a confirmation, if any were needed, of Elizabeth's suspicions. The blow shook her but did not yet hurt, although she knew there was pain to come, once the shock wore off. But for now there was work to be done. James must not suspect that she knew, at the very least not while he was still so weak and ill.

Elizabeth took James's hand in a firm grip; his gaze swung back to her. "Yes," she said brightly, "We are both real, my dear. You are not dreaming, I assure you. I arrived from Port Royal last evening and found Captain Sparrow watching over you." She turned a glittering smile on Jack. "And now that I have come to take care of you, Captain Sparrow has been very kind in assisting me. I am most exceedingly obliged to him."

Jack smiled toothily back at her and Elizabeth knew that battle had been joined. "Mrs. Norrington and I have been taking it in turns to watch over you," he said to James. "When Doctor Selwyn saw you this morning, he said that with the two of us here, you'll be on your feet before you know it."

"Doctor Selwyn was here today?" James's alarm was allayed as he was once again beset by confusion.

"Aye," Sparrow said. "Thought you'd not remember; you were a bit dozy yet. He was here and changed the dressing on your shoulder. Scolded you, too, for what he called 'stubborn imprudence' in the matter of getting out of bed."

"Indeed he did," Elizabeth chimed in. "And you promised to follow his advice this time."

"Good heavens," James said. "How ill _was_ I? I can't remember any of this."

"You were off your head for nigh on twenty-four hours, mate," Jack said. "I wondered for a bit if we were going to lose you."

James was still trying to absorb this news when Sally Hobson and one of the maids brought up their dinner and for a few minutes the chamber was filled with the cheery bustle that accompanied Sally wherever she went.

Elizabeth, watching the maid set the table for two, found herself in a dilemma. She had intended to eat in the common room this evening, rather than sit at table with Sparrow. But, now that James was awake, she had no intention of leaving Sparrow alone with him for a moment, not to mention that it would give a very odd appearance for her to dine apart from her husband. It galled her that she would be forced to share a meal with Sparrow and to behave as if she were pleased to do so, but there was no help for it. She stepped forward to take the tray Mistress Hobson had prepared for James and carry it to the bed.

Jack had already propped James up on pillows so that he could feed himself as well as be able to converse with them as they sat at table. Elizabeth placed the tray across his knees and removed the napkin that covered it. There was a rich broth, with bits of meat and vegetables floating in it, some fresh bread and a glass of wine.

As they got James settled with his meal, Sally finished serving their dinner and left, shooing the maid before her. Jack pulled out Elizabeth's chair for her with a bow before taking his own. They dined on a thick fish chowder and brown bread, followed by a dried-apple tart.

Conversation was desultory for there were many things James wanted to know, but he was too weary for sustained discussion and his mind jumped from one subject to the next. He wanted news of the fleet, but Jack once again put him off, saying that Captain Groves had everything well in hand. James then asked how Elizabeth had come to George Town, and shook his head when she told him.

"That sets a bad example, Elizabeth," he said.

"Perhaps it does," she replied, unabashed, "But I do not often presume upon Father's rank, or yours, for that matter. And this was an extraordinary circumstance, so I do not feel that I have trespassed so greatly. Would you rather I had hired one of the island traders to bring me here?"

James's horrified look made her laugh. "That was exactly Father's reaction, as well," she smiled, "Which is how I persuaded him to help me bend the rules and sail on the _Swift_." Seeing James was finished eating, she rose and took his tray.

"Come now, darling," she coaxed, "Are you so _very_ displeased to see me?"

With an effort, James smiled and reached for her hand. "Of course I am not displeased," he said, and then yawned.

"Not displeased, no, but _tired_, yes," Elizabeth retorted, smiling. Jack rose from the table and came to remove the extra pillows, allowing James to lie down, which he did with a sigh.

"So damnably weak," he murmured in a disgusted tone and closed his eyes.

"Only to be expected," Jack replied. "Sleep will help."

"Thank you for your assistance, Captain Sparrow," Elizabeth said, with a fixed smile, pulling up a chair to the bed. "I will sit with my husband until he falls asleep."

Jack bared his teeth. "Excellent notion, Mrs. Norrington," he replied, doing the same.

Elizabeth turned her shoulder to him and took James's hand. "Good night, darling," she said.

"Good night," James whispered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
In the morning, James woke feeling much stronger. He made a good breakfast, eating a bowl of porridge in addition to a soft-boiled egg, a roll and some coffee. Elizabeth and Jack broke their fast at the same time.

"Perhaps I shall get out of bed for a space today," James remarked, as he finished his second cup of coffee.

Elizabeth looked up, somewhat alarmed. "Let us wait to hear what Doctor Selwyn has to say first," she suggested. "He will be stopping by this morning, if you recall. It's not so very long to wait."

"Impatience has laid you low once already," Jack added. "This unwillingness to follow the good doctor's orders 'sets a bad example', mate."

James frowned at him and replied to Elizabeth. "Very well, we will see what Doctor Selwyn thinks."

When the breakfast things had been cleared away, James noticed the daybed over against the far wall of the room.

"That was not here before," he said. Elizabeth looked up from her sewing.

"Brought it in the night Mrs. Norrington arrived," Jack told him. "I needed a place to sleep - seeing as how she was using the trundle bed."

"What?" James cried, shocked. "You have been sleeping in this room for the past two nights? With her? With us?"

"Where else would I be?" Jack asked, looking James in the eye.

Elizabeth saw the faintest flush stain her husband's cheek. She crossed the room and made pretense of searching for something in her trunks where they stood near the door.

"In your own room, of course," James replied, curtly. "Any other arrangement is scandalously improper."

Jack continued to stare at him and waited.

"I am… you know I am grateful for your care, Jack," James said, his voice softer. "I owe you my life twice over and I am very sensible of the debt. But surely you see that, as things stand… I mean, now that I am better… now that my wife is here…"

"Don't distress yourself, Commodore," Jack interrupted him. "I understand perfectly and happen to agree with you. If you will excuse me, I'll just go see Hobson about removing the daybed, shall I?"

As Jack strode to the door, Elizabeth stood and they came face to face. Confident that James could not see her, hidden behind Sparrow as she was, she allowed a tiny, triumphant smile to curl her lips. Sparrow's answering look was almost murderous. Her smile broadened and she inclined her head in gracious dismissal.

"Good morning, Captain Sparrow."

Jack reached past her to open the door and left without speaking.  
******

In the common room, Jack flung himself down on a bench in the corner and stared moodily at the wall. Who did that slip of girl think she was, taunting _him_ in such a fashion? Well, if she thought he'd be routed that easily, she'd find herself at _point non plus_ before long. Damn the bitch. He looked around for the barmaid. He needed a drink. He spotted Sally and waved her over. She arrived with a tankard in her hand and set it down in front of him.

"Fellow over there bought you a drink, Jack," she said, pointing. "Stranger. Been waiting for you."

Jack saw figure in the shadows on the far side of the room, who waved his own tankard in invitation when he saw Jack looking in his direction.

"Thanks, Sal," Jack said, patting her familiarly on the hip as she hurried off. He took a pull at the ale and stood. Stopping along the way to speak to the handful of his men scattered throughout the place, Jack made his circuitous way to the stranger's table and sat down.

He saw a weather-beaten sailor, who might have been any age from fifty to seventy. His hair was grey and clung to his skull in lank strands. A peg leg protruded from under the table. The man wore an eye-patch and one side of his face was a mass of scars, pulling his mouth awry. His remaining eye, however, was bright and sharp as a gimlet.

He toasted Jack silently and drank, smacking his lips. "Ah, that's proper good ale, so it is," he said, his voice hoarse and rasping. He spat on the floor and drank again, watching Jack the while. When he emerged from his tankard he was grinning; the scars twisted the smile into a leer.

"Ye don't know me, do ye, Jack?" he asked.

The stranger chuckled wheezily and cocked his head, waiting.

Slowly, Jack set down his ale and leaned forward, peering through the gloom. Something about that gesture was familiar, he thought. Someone he had known…

"Changed a bit, I have, since that last night on the _Pearl_," the stranger said, and the penny dropped.

"_William_?" Jack whispered, feeling his own eyes go wide.

"Aye, Jack, 'tis me, right enough," the old man replied, nodding, with another hideous grin.

"But you're dead," Jack exclaimed. "How...?" He waved his arms, unable to find words for his astonishment.

Bootstrap shook his head. "Not dead," he replied. "When Barbossa lifted the curse, I was freed along of the rest of 'em." He drank the last of his ale. "Good thing I'd made my way to shore by that time, else I'd've drowned for real."

Jack caught the barmaid's eye and ordered another round. Turning back to Bill Turner, he reached out and clasped his friend's hand.

"This calls for a celebration," he said. "Let's get drunk."

Bill returned the grip with surprising strength, given his decrepit appearance. He looked Jack in the eye and then away, almost shyly.

"Then you forgive me?" he asked, his gaze directed at the floor. "I mean, after the mutiny and all."

"Nothing to forgive," Jack replied. "There wasn't a thing you could have done, save get yourself marooned along with me. I never blamed you for saving your own skin, William."

The old man looked up, hope in his eye. "You mean it, Jack?"

"Of course I mean it, you old fool," Jack cried. "When have I ever lied to you? Well… about anything important, that is."

Bootstrap laughed. "You haven't changed, you young scamp - not one bit."

"You have," Jack replied, serious again. "What happened? After Barbossa tied you to that cannon and dropped you overboard."

"Well, I tell ye," Bill said, starting on the fresh tankard. "When I went over the side we were in deep waters. I was certain sure I'd be crushed down there in the black deep. But I landed on the top of an underwater mountain; it was so high that some sunlight reached me and I could see naught all round but the depths. I got free of the cannon - Bo's'n allus was sloppy with his knots, if you recall - and sat down on it. Fair flummoxed I was.

After a few days o' doin' nothing, I got an idea. Every so often one of them great sperm whales'd go by me, so close I could near about touch their hide. They'd go down into the deep and come up nigh on an hour later and head for the surface to blow. Well, to cut a long tale short, I swam out and grabbed onto the fluke of a whale as it rose up and it took me with it. Carried me a good long way before it sounded again and forced me to let go or be dragged down."

Jack took a drink. "Then what?" he prompted.

"I'd come across a spar floating, see," said Bill, "and I lashed myself to it with me belt and let the current take me. Every now and again a whole gang of dolphins'd come by and I'd catch hold and let them tow me. I swear, Jack, they acted like it was a game. Not afeard of me at all." He shook his head in remembered wonder. "'Tweren't all so easy, to be sure," he went on, tapping his wooden leg. "Had a bit of a brawl with a shark, too. But, in the end, I come ashore, mostly in one piece, and then all I had to do was lay low."

"Until Barbossa found a way to remove the curse," Jack nodded.

"Aye," Bootstrap said. "I knew it was just a matter o' time before he tracked down my Will. I'd twigged to why he'd need Turner blood, see. Had plenty of time to kill and I spent a mort of it askin' around. Took me damn near two years to figger it out. Met a fair few folks what knows things it ain't fit to know, too." He shuddered and drank deep.

When he emerged from the tankard, he was grinning again. "So," he said, scratching and spitting. "How'd you get the _Black Pearl_ away from that whoreson Barbossa, eh?"

Jack, never sorry to have a fresh audience, told him the whole tale. When he'd done, Bill sat silent for a moment, then he looked at Jack and his mouth twisted.

"You killed him yourself, Jack?" he asked.

"I did, old friend."

There was grim satisfaction in Bootstrap's ruined face. "How'd he die?"

"Hard," Jack said.

"Not hard enough, I'll warrant," Turner replied.

"No, Bill," Jack said, somberly, "Never hard enough."

Silence fell for several minutes, until Bootstrap emptied his tankard once more and slammed it down.

"And now I find my Will survived. He's stepped into Barbossa's shoes and is out to kill you," he growled.

"Ironic, innit?" Jack agreed, waving to the barmaid.

Bill dropped his head into his hands and sighed. "What's that fucking Barbossa done to my boy?" he asked mournfully.

"Made a savage of him, by all accounts," Jack replied, regarding his old friend with pity. "He's called El Diablo Inglés by the Spanish."

"I've heard," Turner spoke without lifting his head, his voice muffled. "And Will was such a kind-hearted lad and all."

After another short silence, Bootstrap sighed again and looked at Jack. "Take me with you," he said.

"What?"

"When you go after Will," Turner said, "I want to come with you."

"William," Jack said, worriedly, "Are you sure?"

"'Course I'm sure," Bill snapped. "He's a mad dog; for all that he's my flesh and blood. He's got to be stopped."

"It'll be a fight to the death, you know," Jack reminded him. "Will's not one to offer quarter."

"Will's not," Bootstrap said, "But you are."

So that was the way of it, Jack thought. "I can make no promises," he replied. "We sail with the Navy, William. And, if they catch him, Will is going to hang."

Turner shook his head. "I ain't expectin' you to promise to save 'im, Jack," he said. "All I ask is two things: take me with you when you sail, and - if'n he jest happens to fall into your hands, mind - be merciful to my son."

How could he refuse? Jack slapped the table. "Agreed," he said.

The two men shook hands on their bargain and Jack bought his old mate a meal, for it seemed that Bootstrap had spent his last farthing following the _Pearl_ here to George Town, in the hopes of seeing Jack.

"Don't argue, you stubborn old goat," he said, when Turner protested. "You're a member of the crew now and you do what I say, eh? Eat. That's an order."

"Aye, Cap'n," Turner tucked into the food, secretly glad to be persuaded. "Cheeky sprat," he muttered into his tankard, grinning. Jack ignored him.

When he'd done with his meal, Jack sent him to the _Pearl_ to get settled in. "See Gibbs," he told Turner. "He's quartermaster. Tell him I sent you."

Turner rose. "Aye, Jack," he nodded. He turned to go and stopped. "One thing more," he said. "I give up the name Bootstrap Bill Turner awhile back. I'm Billy Bones now. Don't want no questions, see?"

"As you wish… Billy Bones," Jack grinned.

'Billy' sketched a salute and stumped out into the sunlight on his way to the harbour.

Jack finished his ale thoughtfully. It seemed to him that Bootstrap's - _Billy Bones's_ \- appearance was an omen of some sort, but damned if he could tell whether it was a good one or a bad. He wondered what Gibbs, superstitious as he was, would make of it, but decided against telling him. Let Billy's secrets lie, he told himself. Poor old bugger's been through enough.

He noticed Doctor Selwyn coming down the stairs and realized that he'd been away from James's room for far longer than he'd intended. Time to get back, lest Mrs. Snooty Norrington get to thinking she'd have things all her own way.

Stopping for a word with Hobson about a room for himself and removing the offending daybed, he went up the stairs and entered the Commodore's room without knocking.

The Norringtons glanced up and Elizabeth put aside the book she had been reading aloud. Jack noted with annoyance that it was his copy of _Robinson Crusoe_.

"I saw Doctor Selwyn leaving," Jack said. "What did he say to your plan of getting out of bed?"

James looked vexed. "He told me that I must not consider it for two more days, at least."

"I am sure he did, and in no uncertain terms, eh?" chuckled Jack. "I'd give a pretty penny to have heard the dressing down he gave you for daring to suggest it."

James was obliged to smile. "He did his best to make me feel an errant schoolboy," he admitted. "It put me forcibly in mind of my tutor, in fact."

"Doctor Selwyn," Elizabeth put in, "Has very decided notions on convalescence. He was most eloquent and persuasive."

"It is galling," James said, almost fretfully, "to lie here perforce, thinking of all the work I should be doing."

"Then do not think of it," Jack advised, pulling up a chair and sitting in it. "We will undertake to divert you." He grinned pointedly at Elizabeth. "I see Mrs. Norrington is carrying on reading my _Robinson Crusoe_ to you. Have I missed much?"

"We had only just begun," Elizabeth replied, smiling sweetly at him, "But now that you are here to read it for us…"

She held the book out to Jack but he leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the bed, with the air of one ready to be entertained.

"Wouldn't dream of usurping your place, ma'am," he said, grinning. "Can't recall the last time I had the pleasure of being read to by a lady. I'll warrant you read charmingly. Ain't I right, Commodore?"

James, clearly uneasy at the tenor of the exchange, had opened his mouth to reply when Elizabeth patted his hand.

"Unfair of you, Captain Sparrow," she said, laughing a little, "To tease my poor husband in such a way! I might read as harshly as a raven and yet he now would feel obliged to compliment me and thus do violence to his honesty." She opened the book and found her place.

"Very well, I will read to you, but I beg you will remember that you have no one but yourself to blame," she added, and began.

Elizabeth did indeed read charmingly and James, who had flushed uncomfortably at her mention of honesty, relaxed by degrees as the story went on. After an hour, however, her voice grew thick and he called a halt.

"What a selfish creature I am," he said, "To allow you to read yourself hoarse for me. Put it up."

Elizabeth smiled and set the book aside.

"Well then," cried Jack, "It's my turn to entertain the invalid, is it?" He took a pack of cards out of his pocket. "What do you say to a hand or two of piquet, eh?"

"If Elizabeth does not object," James said, "I would enjoy it."

"Heavens, why should I object?" Elizabeth said, picking up her sewing. "It is an excellent notion. As I have no turn for cards, you have too few opportunities to play against an opponent worthy of your steel."

Jack chuckled. "Well, that remains to be seen. But just to be safe, I suggest we play for straws, mate." He winked. "Unsporting to take advantage of any lingering delirium."

"As if you could," James retorted, one eyebrow rising. "Deal, you braggart."

They played with great concentration until Mistress Hobson's entrance with their lunch brought the game to a close. A vast quantity of imaginary straws had changed hands but they had ended nearly even, to Jack's surprise and James's amusement.

After their meal, a messenger arrived summoning Jack to the _Pearl_, to settle a question that had arisen regarding repairs. James, meanwhile, napped, being still a great deal weaker than he liked to admit. Elizabeth saw him settled and went for a walk.

Fresh air and exercise were very welcome, after the closeness of the sickroom, and she walked for some time. She had never been to Grand Cayman before and she observed her surroundings with interest. George Town had a character far different than Port Royal. The town was tiny, barely more than a village, and the island lay so low in the water that it seemed as if one fair-sized wave could sweep right over it from one side to the other. She found herself wondering what it must be like to weather a hurricane in such a place and admired the hardiness of the settlers.

On her return to the Blue Turtle, she stopped in the common room to ask Hobson if he had a draughts board. He cheerfully provided her with a board and a box of men, apologizing for the roughness of the set. Elizabeth assured him that it would serve admirably and carried her prize up to the room, coming in just as James woke from his nap.

"Feeling better?" she asked, kissing him.

"A little," James replied. He was inclined to be grumpy. "Still so confoundedly weak," he growled.

"Patience, darling," said Elizabeth, thinking with amusement that he sounded rather childish. She looked forward to joking him about it once he was well. Yes, she thought, when he is well and we are home in Port Royal, and I have him to myself. Thrusting the thought away, she smiled.

"Look what I brought you," she said, placing the draughts board on the bed. "Will you play?"

They were just concluding their second game when Jack returned from the harbour.

"Ah," he said, perching on the foot of the bed. "That puts me in mind of a chess set I saw once. In India, it was."

"You've been to India, Captain Sparrow?" Elizabeth asked.

"Spent a good few years out there," Jack nodded. "Saw some marvels, but few to equal that chess set. Belonged to a Maharajah of my acquaintance. It was the pride of his kingdom and he kept a guard around it night and day composed of thirty of his fiercest warriors."

"Was it so valuable, then?" James asked.

"Oh aye," Jack replied. "Worth more than the city he ruled and everything in it. The board was made of alexandrite and mother of pearl; the squares incised with lotus blossoms and each line inlaid with tiny jewels - diamonds on the green squares and sapphires on the white. By candlelight, of course, the alexandrite went from green to blood red and the diamonds and sapphires sparkled with a cold fire."

"Good gracious!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "I can well believe what you say of its value."

"The chess pieces," Jack went on, very much enjoying the effect his words were having upon his audience, "Were carved of enormous gems, each one a single stone. Rubies and opals, they were; the pawns as big as my thumb, with the other pieces in proportion." He held up his hand in illustration. "And each one with eyes of diamond or sapphire. An astonishing sight."

"I should say so, indeed," James said. "But if this Maharajah guarded his treasure so carefully, Jack, how is it that you were able to get sight of it?"

"Ah, now, that's a tale, mate, that takes some telling," Jack replied. He leaned back against the bedpost and made himself comfortable. "It's like this. The Maharajah's uncle was an envious and ambitious man, not content with the post of chief minister. He wanted the lot, but to achieve that, his nephew would have to die. For years he had watched and waited for his chance. At last, he thought he saw the opportune moment approaching and he began to lay his plans. Disguising himself as a beggar he went down to the harbour…"

James and Elizabeth listened, hugely entertained, to the fantastical story that Jack unfolded. Never at a loss, he described a web of plots and counter-plots of more than byzantine complexity, with himself as the center and lynchpin of it all. Neither of them believed more that one word in ten, of course. Elizabeth was surprised to find that she nevertheless enjoyed herself very much.

"…and so it was that the former chief minister kept his appointment with the royal executioner and the chess board was restored to its place in the heart of the Maharajah's palace, with an entirely new set of guardians," Jack concluded with a bow.

"Did the Maharajah reward you for saving his life?" Elizabeth asked.

"He did," Jack replied, "Although it was a matter of some negotiation. He first offered me my pick of his thirty-seven sisters for wife. But royal princesses are notoriously costly to maintain and, besides, I doubted they'd take to life aboard ship. The Maharajah was inclined to take offense at my refusal, but was persuaded in the end to part with two small caskets, one full of gold and the other of uncut gems."

"Which fortune you put, no doubt, to some good use," James suggested.

"You might say so," Jack grinned, "But that's a tale for another day, for, unless I miss my guess, that sounds like Sally coming up the stairs with our dinner."

As they ate, Elizabeth was drawn, by insensible degrees, into conversation with Sparrow. They spoke of the countries he had visited and the seas he had sailed. Most of his life, it seemed, had been spent in wandering the globe. Unlike the story of the chess set, what he told them during dinner bore the ring of truth. She found herself disarmed and was startled to realize that, had he not been her enemy, she would have been pleased to know him better.

After dinner, they sat at James's bedside and conversed. It was, however, still early in the evening when James began to yawn.

"How on earth can I be sleepy already?" he demanded. "I seem to do nothing but sleep."

Jack laughed at him. "Your own fault, mate. If you hadn't been in such a rush to get up and about that you gave yourself a relapse, you'd be on your feet now."

James declined to acknowledge the truth of this, saying merely, "We will see what Selwyn has to say tomorrow."

"We will indeed," Jack replied. "And now, I shall bid you good night." As he said this he glanced at Elizabeth, but her face was turned away.

"Good night, Captain Sparrow," she said, quite pleasantly, not looking up from her sewing.

"'Night, Jack," said James, on another gaping yawn.  
************

The next morning, after they had breakfasted and Doctor Selwyn had dashed James's hopes by declaring that he must remain in bed for one more day, Hobson came up to announce Captain Groves.

"Send him up, please, Hobson," James said, looking grave. He glanced at Jack before turning to Elizabeth. "Groves would not have come, save to bring me some extraordinary news," he explained. "Forgive me, but I must speak with him alone."

"Of course," Elizabeth nodded, picking up her hat and sunshade. "I shall take my exercise while he is here."

James took her hand and kissed it. "Bless you, my dear."

Groves entered at that moment and Elizabeth turned to him with a smile.

"Captain Groves, what a pleasure to see you," she said, holding out her hand, which he kissed.

"Mrs. Norrington," he replied, smiling, "What did you do to poor Lieutenant Parker? He looked very green about the gills after conducting you from the _Swift_ the other night."

Elizabeth laughed. "Did he? Nothing so very bad, I assure you. But he _would_ stand there, bleating about 'can't' and 'I don't think I should', so what could I do but speak firmly to him?"

Groves chuckled and shook his head. "Then I can hardly blame him; I know how terrifying you are in that mood."

"You are unchivalrous, sir," Elizabeth chuckled. "I shall tell Mary so. And now, I shall leave you to talk Navy secrets with my husband, while I take my walk."

Captain Groves bowed to her and nodded at Jack as they left. When the door had closed behind them, he walked over to the bed and looked keenly at James.

"You look pale," he said. "How do you go on?"

"Oh for the love of God, not you, too, Theo," James cried. "I get enough of that from Elizabeth and the doctor."

Groves laughed and sat down. "Coddling you, are they?" he asked, sympathetically.

"To within an inch of my life," James replied, with an eloquent roll of his eyes. "Now, what news?"

"We have word of Turner at last," Groves said. "He's gone to ground at Montego Bay."

"We'll have to so something about that place," James nodded. "Bad enough they harbour petty smugglers, but when they take in pirates, they've gone too far to wink at."

"I agree," Groves replied, "But they can wait."

"Yes. Now, what strength does Turner have?" James asked.

"Just his three remaining ships, at the moment," replied Groves. "He's contrived to get them all back there, even the one Sparrow damaged so badly. But, formidable as he is with three ships, I fear he may soon have more. He has, apparently, sent word to Tortuga looking for allies."

"Has he?" James said. "I take it he thinks us ripe for the plucking."

"So it seems. The burden of his message is that, if they band together to defeat the British Navy, they can each go their own way afterward, with every English town from here to Bermuda wide open for the taking."

James's face was grim. "If, as Sparrow claims, Turner's original intention was only to kill him and take back the _Black Pearl_, then his ambition seems to have grown monstrously large in a very short time. Can he be sane, do you think?"

"Sane or mad, he's deadly dangerous, James," Groves said. "If he succeeds in recruiting even a half-dozen of the usual small pirate vessels to join with those three ships of the line he's got, he could well prevail."

"I know it."

There was a silence.

"Curse this damned shoulder," James muttered. Groves said nothing.

"We cannot risk waiting until I am well enough," James went on, reluctantly. "You'll have to take the fight to him, Theo. Crush him before he gathers more followers."

Groves nodded. "It's the only way, I fear," he said.

"Good thing for you that we are friends," James grumbled, "Else I could hate you for this."

"And there would go my career," Theo grinned. "With the Commodore against me, I'd be doomed."

James's eyebrows rose. "Are you laughing at me, Captain Groves?" he asked.

Groves pulled his face straight. "Certainly _not_, sir," he declared. "Never, sir."

James chuckled. "Oh, shut up, you humbug. Must I remind you again, that it's my shoulder that's damaged, not my intellect? Now, how stands the fleet?"

"The _Lord Weldon_ is, of course, still without a mainmast. But the captured pirate is ready to sail. I've shifted most of my men to her and made up the rest from the fort and a few from the other ships."

"Good," James said. "That makes it six to three in our favour."

"Six?" Groves asked. "Then Sparrow will be sailing with us?"

"He will," James nodded. "That is, I expect he will be. I will speak to him about it this morning."

"Can we trust him, James?"

"In this, yes," James replied. "He is a marked man until Turner is accounted for; he will spare no effort to defeat him."

Groves was obliged to admit that this made sense. They spent another hour going over details before Elizabeth returned from her walk. As she was removing her hat, Jack came into the room.

In a few words, James told them of the situation. "The fleet sails tomorrow, under Captain Groves," he went on. "Captain Sparrow, may we count upon you to accompany him?"

Jack bowed. "Of course," he said. "I wouldn't miss this for worlds."

"Thank you," James replied. He looked to Groves and held out his hand. "Good luck, Theo," he said. "And Godspeed. Take care of my _Dauntless_."

Groves smiled as he wrung James's hand. "Thank you, James. I will." He bowed to Elizabeth.

"Good luck, Captain Groves," she said, smiling.

Groves looked at Jack. "Captain Sparrow, I will hold a strategy conference in my office at the fort today at noon. I would request that you and the captain of the _Fury_ attend."

"We will be there," he replied.

When Groves had gone, Jack went to the bedside. "You trust me?" he asked, looking down at James.

"Yes," James replied, "As does Groves."

For a long moment, dark eyes stared into green, and, as once before, Jack's chin dipped a fraction in the tiniest of nods. James held out his hand with a smile and Jack took it.

"Godspeed, Jack," he said softly. "Good luck."

"Thank you, James" Jack replied. Releasing James's hand, Jack turned to Elizabeth and bowed.

Elizabeth curtseyed. "Good luck, Captain Sparrow," she said.

Jack put his hat on. With his hand on the latch he turned and grinned at James.

"Until next time," he said, and was gone.

As the sound of Jack's footsteps on the stairs died away, James looked at his wife.

"Elizabeth," he said, "I must talk to you."

"Of course, my dear," she replied. "What is it?"

James patted the mattress and she sat down on the edge of the bed. He took her hand in his, toying with her fingers as he spoke. "When the fleet sails tomorrow, they will take every sailor and all but a handful of marines - leaving barely enough to man the fort. We are committing all our forces to this battle in the hope of crushing Turner once and for all."

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes," she said. "I know."

"It is a rather desperate gamble, for, if we fail, nearly all the Crown's colonies in the West Indies will lie at the mercy of the buccaneers."

"But we are not likely to fail," Elizabeth said.

"We have the superior numbers at the moment, it is true," James replied. "That is why the fleet sails tomorrow - without me - to engage Turner before he can gather more ships under his flag. And Groves is a very skilled fighter, as is Sparrow. But there is luck to be considered; many things might still go wrong."

He paused, and Elizabeth wondered what was coming. After a few moments, James took a deep breath and met her eye.

"It is for this reason," he said, "That you must return to Port Royal immediately. It is one of the few towns that will not be left wholly defenseless in the event we are defeated. The _Swift_ sails tomorrow before dawn; I want you to be aboard."

"No," Elizabeth cried, shaking her head, "I do not wish to go. I will not leave you!"

"Nor do I wish to see you go," James replied. "But I will rest easier knowing you are as safe as possible, and that means Port Royal."

"James, please," Elizabeth whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "Do not send me away, I beg of you." The tears spilled over. "Please."

"Elizabeth," James said, drawing her down until she was half-lying against him. "Darling girl, do not weep; you will break my heart. Please, dearest."

"But who will care for you?" she asked, her face pressed against his good shoulder, voice muffled.

"The Hobsons can provide what assistance I shall require," James assured her. "By tomorrow, I shall be able to leave this bed at last and I expect I shan't need much looking after from then on."

Her arm crept around his waist. There was silence for some time. James stroked her hair soothingly as Elizabeth struggled with her tears. At last she sighed.

"Must I go, indeed?" she asked, her tone wistful and resigned.

"Yes, my love," James replied, "You must."

She sat up, wiping her eyes with the heels of her hands. "Very well," she said, sniffling a little. "But I go under protest. You are very cruel, husband."

"Oh yes," James answered, relieved, "I am a very monster of inhumanity, am I not, to insist upon your safety?"

She nodded, searching for her handkerchief and blowing her nose. She looked at James and smiled, albeit wanly. Going to the washbasin, she splashed water on her cheeks and removed most traces of her tears.

Turning to face him, she asked, "Better?"

"Much," he replied, taking her hand and urging her to sit beside him once again.

Elizabeth picked up Jack's book from the bedside table and turned it over in her hands, running her fingers over the tooled leather and gilded pages. It was a beautiful thing. "Shall I read?"

"If you please," James replied.

When lunch arrived, a little more than an hour later, Elizabeth put aside the book and served James before sitting down to eat herself. They conversed quietly about literature, avoiding any mention of her impending departure.

After their meal, as James laid down for a nap, Elizabeth stepped out of her shoes and began to unlace her gown.

"What are you doing?" James asked.

"I think I should like a nap, too," Elizabeth replied, standing up in her shift. She turned back the covers and slipped into the bed beside her husband. He put his good arm around her and she snuggled against him. "There," she sighed. "I've been wanting to do this ever since I arrived."

"So have I," James replied.

The room was very warm and James had soon fallen asleep. Elizabeth, however, was wide awake, reluctant to miss a moment of the few hours remaining before she would leave.

James's breath stirred her hair; his chest rose and fell beneath her hand. His arm across her back clasped her firmly to his side. She wished that time would stop for a space and leave them like this; alone and at peace.

Instead, she would be sent home, alone, to Port Royal in the morning. James wanted her kept safe; she believed that and loved him for it. But did he also wish her _out of the way_, perhaps without even being aware of it? If she was once more back in Port Royal, then might not he and Sparrow…? She squeezed her eyes shut as if she could block out the memory of Jack's hands holding James down during his fever.

There was an ugly name for the love between man and man. Preachers thundered against it from the pulpit; the Navy was relentless and ruthless in punishing those caught indulging their 'unnatural lusts'. And ladies were protected from any knowledge of it - or so the gentlemen thought. But a Navy wife - especially one who, like Elizabeth, had grown up in a Navy port - would have to be blind, deaf or half-witted not to know of its existence. And Elizabeth was none of these things.

Sodomy - she used the word defiantly - did happen, and the men involved were not always depraved brutes. There were at least three officers - good men, gentlemen - currently serving on ships based in Port Royal to whom the ladies all referred, amongst themselves, as 'confirmed bachelors'. This was always uttered with a significant look that made it clear that the phrase was a euphemism. And yet these officers were received, they were even popular; she was on friendly terms with them all.

But James - _her husband_ \- and Jack Sparrow? It was possible, she found, to carry tolerance so far and no further.

And yet, husbands - even, sometimes, the best of them - strayed; it was a fact of life. Ladies were expected to look the other way and to ignore such infidelities as being beneath their notice. Women had shared their husbands with mistresses and whores since the beginning of time. But James - who was surely the best of men and the best husband - and a _man_?

No, she told herself. No. She would not go meekly home and surrender this fight. James was _hers_ and she would not give him up, not to anyone.

But James, she knew, would not relent; his mind was made up - he would insist she leave as planned.

What if she did not go aboard the _Swift_ at all, but hid herself in the town until all the Navy sailed away and it was impossible to pack her onto another vessel? But no, the commander of the _Swift_ would surely raise the alarm if she failed to appear and a search would be made. George Town was far too small to hide her for long. And James would be furious with her for causing such a fuss.

She chewed her lip and thought for a while longer. Suddenly a plan burst into her imagination, a plan so daring, so brilliant - so utterly mad - that she gasped and her heart began to pound. But could it be done? Yes, yes, she thought she saw a way to accomplish it with none the wiser until it was far too late to stop her. She lay still, her eyes wide in half-frightened awe at her own audacity, and contemplated exactly what steps she needed to take. She _would_ do this thing.

Another minute's thought and it occurred to her how angry James would be when he found out and she quailed, but not for long. Desperate times call for desperate measures, she told herself. And then, giddily, 'faint heart ne'er won fair maid.'

When James awoke, an hour later, Elizabeth had every detail of her 'escape' clear in her head; she was able to rein in her excitement in order to avoid arousing suspicion. They spent the afternoon playing draughts and reading.

After dinner, she packed the last items into her trunks and they were taken down to the harbour. Because the _Swift_ was sailing well before dawn, James thought it best that she spend the night on board. Elizabeth made no demur, as this fit in with her plans admirably.

Once the trunks had gone, she spent the hours until it was time to leave sitting on the bed beside James, holding his hand and talking. She made him promise, if Doctor Selwyn allowed him to get up on the morrow, that he would be careful of over-exerting himself.

"You must be patient, my dear," she told him. "Remember what happened last time you were too precipitate."

James raised his eyes heavenward. "Yes, Mama," he sighed, making Elizabeth giggle.

But in the end, when Hobson had come up to announce that Lieutenant Parker was waiting downstairs to escort her to the _Swift_, she could not quite keep the tears at bay.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice breaking.

James drew her down and kissed her tenderly. "And I love you," he said. "Come, smile for me. It will not be so long until I am home again."

Elizabeth nodded and tried to smile. "I will miss you."

"And I you," James replied. "Safe journey, my dear. Farewell."

"Farewell, James," Elizabeth said. She picked up her shawl, kissed him again and went downstairs to meet Lieutenant Parker.

Once aboard the _Swift_, she went immediately to her cabin and requested that she not be disturbed. The captain, only too glad to have a passenger who was willing to stay out of the way of his crew, assured her that only direst emergency could cause him to trouble her. She thanked him and went below.

Elizabeth had observed with satisfaction that the harbour was in a state approaching chaos, as the fleet completed preparations to sail. So much the better she thought, unlocking her trunks and retrieving her writing desk. Placing it upon the cot, she took from within it paper, a pen and the inkhorn. Dipping the pen, she wrote:

_Dear Captain Arnold,_

I have decided to stay in George Town after all and have left the Swift. Not wishing to make more work for your men, I leave my trunks in your care, taking only my immediate necessities with me. Please deliver the trunks to my home in Port Royal and be assured of my eternal gratitude for the favour.

Sincerely yours,  
Elizabeth Norrington

This note she folded and sealed - addressing it to the captain - and set it aside. Diving back into her trunks, she rummaged for a moment and drew forth a suit of boy's clothes and her sword, silently congratulating herself on the foresight that had led her to pack them in the first place. It was a sensible precaution to have brought along a disguise when sailing into dangerous waters.

She hastily stripped off her gown and shift and bundled them into the trunk, along with her shoes and silk stockings. Hurrying into her disguise, she checked her appearance in the mirror and was reminded of her hair, still piled atop her head. She removed the pins and brushed out the curls, then pulled it severely back into a single braid down her back. Another quick search of the trunk and she found the battered tricorne that completed her transformation from Commodore's lady to stripling boy. Lastly, she belted on her sword.

Elizabeth put her writing desk and hairbrush back in the trunk, closed and locked them both and pocketed the key. She then placed the folded note atop the trunk nearest the door where it would catch the eye of anyone entering the cabin. One last quick survey to be sure she had forgotten nothing, and she was ready.

She crept along the passage and listened. The sounds of activity on deck waxed and waned as gangs brought supplies aboard and left again. Elizabeth waited for the next crescendo of stamping and banging and slipped out on deck with her hat pulled low over her eyes. There was such a crowd milling about in the flaring torchlight that she was able to cross the deck and make her way down the gangplank without attracting any notice. She darted into the shadow of a shed and peered around, looking for the _Black Pearl_.

Her luck was with her; the _Pearl_ was the next vessel down the quay. Cautiously, she slipped behind the shed and walked down the alley behind the buildings, feeling her way with one hand touching the wall beside her. Finding a gap in the row nearly opposite the _Pearl's_ gangway, once more she waited, watching the two crewmen who stood guard at the foot of it. There was little activity aboard the _Pearl_ \- not nearly so much as on the Navy ships. Elizabeth guessed that perhaps privateers, due to the nature of their business, kept themselves in permanent readiness to sail and so had less to do this night.

Just when it seemed that she might be forced to try to bluff her way past the guards, Fortune favoured her once again. A brawl broke out a short way down the quay and the two privateers, after watching eagerly for a few moments, finally ran to join the fray, leaving the gangway unwatched.

Crouching low, Elizabeth dashed from her hiding place, up the gangway and onto the deck of the _Black Pearl_. She dropped into a patch of inky shadow at the foot of the mainmast and looked around, hardly daring to breathe.

There were voices coming from the fo'c's'le and she could see several figures on the quarterdeck, Sparrow among them, but they were turned away from her, watching the fight still in progress on the quay. There was not a soul to be seen on the main deck; she could scarcely believe her luck had carried her this far.

Elizabeth tiptoed to the swinging door that led to the great cabin and inched it open - thankful that it did not squeak. She ducked inside and eased it closed again. Creeping along the short passage, she let herself into the great cabin and breathed a sigh of relief to find it both empty and dimly lit by a small lantern.

She looked around for a hiding place but could find none better than the dining table, which was covered in an enormous brocade tablecloth that fell to the floor in heavy folds on all sides, making a kind of tent. She crawled underneath and straightened the cloth where it had been disarranged by her passage. Sitting down upon the deck, with her sword in her lap and one of the massive carved legs of the table supporting her back, she prepared to wait.


	20. Aboard the Black Pearl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I doubt the Commodore is the sort who'd beat his wife, but you deserve that as well. Be thankful you're not mine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: T

It was not long before she heard a brisk step in the passage and Sparrow's voice. "Wake me in three hours," he said, as he opened the door.

"Aye, Jack," said a voice without that sounded to her like Gibbs.

Elizabeth listened to Sparrow moving about the cabin. There was the chink of a stopper and the gurgle of pouring liquid, then the rustle and crackle that told her he had unrolled a map. Shortly afterward he sat at the table and put his heels upon it with a thump; she held her breath, terrified lest he discover her now, before they sailed, and put her off the ship.

It was only a few minutes - although it seemed longer - before Sparrow stood and crossed the cabin to the bunk. Elizabeth heard the creak as he threw himself down upon it, tossing and turning to get comfortable, and then silence.

She drew a deep breath and relaxed against the table leg, taking her hat off and leaning her head back. It was stifling under the heavy tablecloth; she struggled against a yawn. Incredibly, despite her excitement, she felt herself growing sleepy. She settled her sword more firmly in her lap and toed off her shoes, lest in her sleep she scrape them along the deck and make a noise. She closed her eyes.

"Jack. Jack! It's four bells," a voice cried, waking Elizabeth from an uneasy doze. She heard Jack's feet hit the deck.

The cabin door opened. "Jack," Gibbs said. "Oh, ye're awake. Looks like we'll be getting under way within the hour."

"'Bout time," Jack muttered, crossing the cabin. "Bloody Navy. Is there coffee?" The door slammed and their voices died away.

Elizabeth stretched. Not long now to wait. Once they were at sea - when it was impossible for her to be set ashore - she'd make her presence known.

Her back felt as if the carved wood against which she was resting had bored a hole in it. Too stiff and cramped now to go back to sleep, she listened to the sounds of activity on the deck above. Amidst the pad and slap of many bare feet, she heard the tread of Sparrow's boot heels. It was tempting, knowing he was certain to stay on deck until they sailed, to come out of her airless hiding place, but she was too close to success to risk all by being hasty. With a sigh she shifted around, trying to get comfortable. After a time, she dozed again.

A change in the motion of the ship woke her. She sat up, suddenly alert. In a few moments she began to smile; they were under way at last. Once the fleet was clear of the island, she would be safe. The final hour was, of course, the hardest, but at long last she felt the movement of the open sea beneath the _Pearl's_ keel. She lifted the tablecloth and saw by the grayness of the stern windows that dawn was well advanced.

Elizabeth crept out from under the table and got to her feet, stretching gratefully. Then she retrieved her shoes and put them on. Moving with caution, mindful that her footfalls might be heard, she moved about the cabin, inspecting it with considerable curiosity.

The map table, over which hung the dim night light, held her interest for some time; there were maps and charts from Asia, the New World and the Old. Sparrow's claim to have sailed the world over appeared to be supported by their presence here on the _Black Pearl_.

She moved to the sideboard, the top of which was cluttered with objects both mundane and exotic. In the steadily growing daylight she saw a sewing kit, a box of watercolours and an empty rum bottle sharing the space with an elephant carved of ivory, with gilded tusks and jewels for eyes. There were bits of frayed rope and a whale's tooth, a piece of driftwood studded with shells in an odd spiral pattern and a flat stone that bore the lifelike impression of a starfish. She spotted a London playbill from fifteen years ago, held down by a tiny pistol and a clay pipe stem.

The desk she passed over - oddly scrupulous of Sparrow's privacy - to inspect the rows of books beyond it. It was a large and varied collection and, as she read the titles on shelf after shelf, she found herself wondering once again about Sparrow. Who was he? What was his history? Presently she came to the Shakespeare and, pulling out a volume of sonnets, she perched on the stern lockers and began to read. So engrossed was she that she did not hear the cabin door open.

"And who the hell may you be, young fellow?" Gibbs asked.

Elizabeth started violently and leapt to her feet, the book falling from her hands. She stared at the burly man advancing on her with a grim light in his eye and shrank back against the bookcase.

"Mister Gibbs," she cried. "You frightened me!"

Gibbs stopped in his tracks, astonished. "_Miss Elizabeth_?" he exclaimed, not quite believing his eyes.

Elizabeth nodded.

"But what in the name of all that's holy are you doing aboard the _Pearl_?" Gibbs asked. Suddenly his eyes narrowed. "Does Jack know you're here?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "Nobody knows but you. I… well, I guess I stowed away." She tried a smile.

Gibbs did not smile back. "You stowed away," he repeated, slowly. "On a ship bound for battle. You've run mad, that's what it is." He looked Elizabeth up and down and shook his head. "At least you had the sense to dress as a boy. You just come with me, missy. Time to face the music."

So saying, Gibbs laid hold of her shoulder with one beefy hand and, heedless of her struggles, marched her out of the cabin and down the passage.

"No," Elizabeth gasped, attempting to wriggle free. "Wait."

"Best shut your mouth," Gibbs told her curtly, giving her a shake. "The less you say, the better it will be for you."

They burst out onto the main deck and he hurried her up the steps to the quarterdeck. Elizabeth had a confused impression of the gaping faces of a number of sailors before Gibbs pulled her to a halt at the top of the steps.

"Captain," he said, "It seems we got us a stowaway."

Sparrow turned. "Do we?" he replied, coming over to where they stood. Elizabeth saw the instant when he recognized her; his step faltered almost imperceptibly and his eyes widened a fraction.

Recovering from his surprise, the Captain stopped directly in front of her and looked her up and down insolently. Hooking his thumbs in his sash, he met her eye and bared his teeth in an utterly humourless grin.

"Well now, what have we here?" he drawled.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply only to feel Gibbs's hand tighten warningly on her shoulder. She shook off his grip and glared at Sparrow without speaking.

"Answer me, _boy_," Sparrow ordered. "Why are you on my ship, eh?"

The emphasis on the word 'boy', coupled with the warning look in Sparrow's eyes conveyed a message reinforced by the crowd of sailors gathered around, watching her with avid interest. Suddenly Elizabeth was afraid. She took a deep breath and felt a faint thread of courage return; she could do this. She stood up straight and put her hand upon the pommel of her sword, giving Sparrow back stare for stare.

"I want to fight pirates," she said, in her deepest voice.

There was a stir of amusement through the crowd but her gaze did not waver from Sparrow's. She saw his mustaches stir.

"And _can_ you fight?" Sparrow asked her, his glance flickering to her sword and back to her face.

Elizabeth swallowed. "Try me," she said.

"Very well," Sparrow replied, drawing his sword. The crowd pulled back, leaving a large oval space into which Elizabeth stepped. She drew her blade.

"_En garde._"

At the first clash of blade on blade, Elizabeth's fear fell away, to be replaced by the concentration and carefully controlled exhilaration that fencing always evoked. Sparrow's attack was slow and careful; he was holding back, she realized. Her counter-attack, much faster, made him laugh even as he parried. The pace picked up.

Up and down the quarterdeck they fought; two minutes… three. By the time the bout had lasted five minutes, Elizabeth was tiring, but still holding her own, when suddenly, in a move too fast to follow, Sparrow disarmed her - her sword clattered to the deck. He touched the point of his blade to the center of her chest, feather light, and she acknowledged the hit.

"Impressive, lad." Sparrow bent, scooped up her sword and tossed it to Gibbs. "But not good enough to fight pirates, I think." Elizabeth stood where she was, breathing hard.

"Gentlemen," Sparrow said to the crew, "Give us leave." Soon all save the helmsman had left the quarterdeck. Elizabeth looked up as Jack took her elbow and led her to the taffrail, out of earshot.

"Now," Jack said. "What in the name of all the hells are you doing here, _Mrs. Norrington_?" His voice was level and low but Elizabeth could see fury in his eyes.

"My husband insisted that I return to Port Royal," Elizabeth replied. "I did not wish to go, and…"

"Are you mad or merely a fool?" Jack snapped, cutting her off. "Do you not see? He wanted you safe. With you here, the fate of everything he loves now rides on a single roll of the dice; his ship," Sparrow's finger stabbed first toward the _Dauntless_, a half mile ahead, then at her, "And his wife."

Elizabeth raised her chin. "And you," she retorted, softly.

Jack regarded her for a long moment, an arrested expression on his face. "Ah," was all he said. His hand shot out and grasped her arm; he hurried her down to the main deck and through the cabin doors.

Once in the main cabin, Jack released her. Leaving her standing by the door, he crossed to the table and poured two glasses of wine. He offered one to Elizabeth, who shook her head. Then he folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the table, sipping his wine.

"Explain yourself," he said.

"I am not blind, Captain Sparrow," Elizabeth replied. "Nor am I a simpleton, and I would have to be both not to have seen that you and my husband… care for each other. It was quite obvious to me almost from the first moment I saw you together."

"Was it?" Jack asked. He looked faintly amused; his black eyes gave away nothing.

Elizabeth nodded. "Not to someone who knows him less well, to be sure," she said. "But to me, yes, it was very clear."

"I won't say yea or nay to this _interesting_ accusation, which, if proven, could hang your husband, as I am sure you know - you being so very clever." Jack's mockery stung. "Let us set it aside for a moment while you tell me why, exactly, you chose to stow away on the _Black Pearl_. What do you hope to accomplish by it?"

"I told you," Elizabeth replied, beginning to be angry. "My husband wanted me to return home and I did not wish to go…"

"Because you wanted to run away to sea and fight pirates," Jack interrupted, grinning nastily. He put down his wine and moved to stand over her. "You said. Now, Elizabeth, let us have the truth, if you please. Why?"

"Because," she shouted, "I was not going tamely back to Port Royal and let some damned _pirate_ steal what is mine."

Sparrow's grin became a sneer; he laughed in her face. "And do you think you could stop me?" he asked.

Too angry for caution, Elizabeth slapped him with all her strength.

Jack caught her arm and shoved her backwards until she slammed against the door. She tried to hit him again and in an instant he had pinned both her wrists against the panels at the level of her shoulders.

"That may have been a mistake, _Mrs. Norrington_," Jack snarled. "There are penalties for striking the Captain of a ship, you know."

Elizabeth bared her teeth. "You wouldn't dare."

"You have no idea what I would dare, you foolish child," he snapped. "Pray you never find out."

"Let me go!" she cried, struggling without effect.

Jack looked down at her and, very slowly, he smiled.

"No one knows you are here, do they?" he asked, gold teeth glinting. Elizabeth's eyes went wide and she froze. Jack chuckled.

"I see you understand me. Nothing to stop me, is there?" Jack looked her up and down once again. "A bit skinny for my taste, but you know what they say - a bird in the hand…"

As he spoke, he bent his head until his mouth was a hairsbreadth from hers.

"No," Elizabeth gasped, her voice barely a whisper. "Please. No."

"No?" Jack asked, raising his head again. She shook her head jerkily. "No, perhaps not," he said, abruptly releasing her and turning to take up his wine again.

Elizabeth sagged against the door. Her heart was pounding and she could not seem to breathe properly.

"It is fortunate for you, Elizabeth, that I am not the pirate you named me," Jack told her. He pulled a chair out from the table. "Come here."

Pushing herself upright, Elizabeth walked with a tolerably firm step to the table and sat down, snatching her hand away when Jack would have seated her.

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked, not looking at him.

"That's the question, isn't it?" Jack replied. "What is to be done with you?" He went to the door.

"First things first," he went on. "Wait here."

Jack went down the passage and out on deck. Gibbs met him before he had gone more than two steps; he was still carrying Elizabeth's sword. Jack took the sword with a word of thanks.

"Have some breakfast sent in," Jack added. "Our guest has had a trying morning and must be hungry."

"What are you going to do, Jack?" the old salt asked.

"Keep her out of mischief and hope we all live through the battle," Jack replied, shrugging. "Because I very much want to see Norrington's face when I return with his strayed wife."

When Jack re-entered the cabin Elizabeth was gazing out the stern windows and did not look around until he spoke.

"If I give this back to you, will you promise not to use it against me?" he asked, holding out her sword.

She nodded. "Yes, Captain Sparrow," she replied wearily. "You have my word."

"Good." Jack said, sitting down opposite her. "You fight well; I confess it surprised me. Where did you learn?"

"My husband taught me," she shrugged.

"Did he?" Jack grinned. "And how did you charm him into doing something so outré, or shouldn't I ask?"

She gave him a look of faint distaste.

"Now then," Jack went on, still grinning, "Breakfast will be here shortly. And then, I expect you'd like a nap. Can't imagine you got much sleep last night."

"Thank you," Elizabeth replied. "You are very kind. Where may I sleep?"

"Right there," Jack nodded to his bunk. "You'll be staying in this cabin for the duration."

Elizabeth's eyes flew to his face. "And where will you…?" she asked.

Jack winked at her. "Here, of course," he said. "It's my cabin, innit?"

She jumped to her feet as if she would have fled and Jack chuckled.

"Calm yourself, Elizabeth. I will swing a hammock," he said. "Sit down, sit down."

Elizabeth obeyed, still watching him warily.

"Your virtue is safe with me, Mrs. Norrington," Jack told her, "I would not play such a scurvy trick on your husband. Oh, that?" he said, gesturing to the door, in response to her questioning look. "Thought you deserved a lesson, that's all."

"You bastard," she said, glaring.

"Got it in one, darling," Jack grinned. "However did you guess?"

There was a knock and the cook entered with their breakfast.

When he had gone, Jack said, "For your own safety - and for peace amongst the crew - it'll be best if you stay out of sight as much as possible. We'll let them think you're a boy, but the disguise won't hold up under too much scrutiny and we don't want word to get around that Commodore Norrington's wife sailed on the _Pearl_ dressed as a boy, now do we?"

Elizabeth glanced at him thoughtfully. "You are very careful of my reputation, Captain Sparrow," she said at last.

Jack shook his head. "Of your husband's madam," he replied coldly, and Elizabeth blushed.

"I deserved that," she said, eyes on her plate.

"You did," Jack agreed. "I doubt the Commodore is the sort who'd beat his wife, but you deserve that as well. Be thankful you're not mine." He rose. "Get some sleep."

When Jack had gone, Elizabeth toyed with her food and stared out the windows. She had not anticipated that Jack would react to her presence as he had done. Anger she had expected, of course. But Jack was not angry for himself; his first thought had been for James, for how her reckless action endangered James's happiness. Jack was more careful of that happiness than she had been, and was that not proof of love? She rubbed her eyes, which had begun to burn. Remembering the contempt in his voice as he said, _"Be thankful you are not mine."_ made her blush with shame. What a fool she was.

Leaving her breakfast untouched she went to the bunk and lay down with her back to the cabin.  
*********

Elizabeth spent the next few days in the cabin, save for brief periods of exercise on the quarterdeck. When she was on deck, the crew kept their distance, no doubt acting on orders. The long hours below she beguiled with Jack's excellent library and with watching the wake frothing beneath the windows. And all the while she could feel the mood of the ship tensing, as they drew ever closer to their goal and the battle that should decide the fate of so many.

True to his word, Jack had swung a hammock and left her in sole possession of the bunk. He treated her with cool courtesy, conversing with ease over the meals they took together and in the odd hour he spent below with her, but never warming to cordiality. It hurt her that she had lost his good opinion. She didn't like to think about why Jack Sparrow's opinion of her should matter so much.

On the afternoon of the third day, as they beat up along the north coast of Jamaica - which lay like a blue cloud, faint on the horizon to starboard - Elizabeth was walking on the quarterdeck when the lookout shouted "Sail ho!" Soon, even those on deck could see the three towers of sail bearing down on them from just north of east.

Jack snapped his glass closed and nodded. "That's him," he said.

Signals went up on the _Dauntless_ and were passed down the line. Preparations began. The pirate ships drew near with frightening speed; it seemed to Elizabeth that she could see them growing larger by the minute.

Jack turned to her, his expression grim. "Get below," he said.


	21. At Sea, West of Montego Bay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Battle and confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: M

Elizabeth crouched in the passage, against the doors that led to the main deck. She had fled the great cabin - ages ago, it seemed - when the stern windows had shattered under musket fire, spraying glass everywhere. The passage, being enclosed, felt safer, for all that it was full of the acrid white smoke from the cannon, making her choke and gasp for each breath.

It had been impossible to follow the battle - to know who was winning or losing - from below decks. Even while she was still in the great cabin, the windows had shown her nothing but rolling clouds of smoke, punctuated by flashes, and glimpses of sails moving here and there in incomprehensible patterns.

Her only impression, aside from the ubiquitous stench of the powder was of noise. For hours the boom of the cannon had underlaid a barrage of sound in which the crackle and rattle of musketry, the screams of the wounded, the rending crash of shattering timbers, the pounding of feet on the deck, the bellowing of orders and, terrifyingly, the clash of swords and the grunts and cries of hand to hand combat had been so jumbled together that she could not begin to decipher their meaning.

For some time now, the _Pearl's_ cannon had been silent, the sounds of battle continuing at a distance. She leaned closer to the door, trying to catch words in the confusion of voices without. It did not seem to her that they had been captured, but she wished to be certain before going out on deck. There was a burst of shouting and the sound running feet and then the voices fell silent. Then, clear above the distant cannon-fire, she heard Jack's voice, raised to carry.

"So, you are Will Turner, eh?" Jack said.

Will Turner! Elizabeth leapt to her feet and opened the door. The crew was gathered before her on the main deck, facing something she could not see at the starboard rail. Hastily she crept part way up the stairs to the quarterdeck until she could look over the heads of the men in her way. She saw a small group of men - no more than a half-dozen - disarmed and backed against the rail and surrounded by the _Pearl's_ crew. Facing the captives stood Jack, with Gibbs and his other officers at his shoulder. A cable's length downwind the hulk of a large ship drifted, engulfed in flames and listing sharply.

"Welcome aboard the _Black Pearl_, Mister Turner," Jack said, bowing. The crew hooted and laughed.

A tall young man stepped forward, head high, and spat on the deck at Jack's feet. "That for your welcome, you murdering thief," he snarled.

A curious thrill ran through Elizabeth at the sight of this Turner. The famous pirate, scourge of the Caribbean, was no older than she and, despite the blood and grime that covered him and the bruise darkening along one cheekbone, beautiful. Dark brown hair swept back from a broad, smooth forehead to fall curling to his shoulders, his eyes were large and dark under level brows, and his jaw thrust belligerently forward beneath wide cheekbones.

_This_ was the man whose ships had sunk the _Relentless_ and killed Captain Gillette and his men; who had very nearly killed her own husband? He was hardly more than a boy.

"Thief is such a harsh term," Jack was saying, reproachfully. "I merely took back what was mine. And as for murder, well, that's a matter of opinion. There's some who'd say he deserved what he got."

Turner surged forward until stopped by two Pearls who grabbed his arms, hauled him struggling back to his mates and held him there.

"Deserved it?" Turner cried. "You dare say that to me! He counted you his friend."

"Did he?" Jack replied. "He had a damned peculiar way of showing it, then."

"Murderer!" Will shouted, wrenching at the hands holding him back. "You fucking murderer!"

Jack shrugged. "Have it your way, boy," he said. He tilted his head. "Now that I get a good look at you, you really are the image of your father. Stubborn like him, too. He'd get a notion in his head and not let it go, no matter what."

"Is that why you killed him?" Will asked.

"_What_?"

"Go ahead and finish the job," Will taunted. "You don't dare leave me alive for I will never stop until I've sent you down to join my father."

"Hold on," Jack said, puzzled, "Are you off your head? We were talking of Barbossa."

Will's face contorted and he spat again. "Barbossa's in hell and good riddance. You killed my father."

"You're mad," Jack replied, speaking slowly, "Your father was my best friend."

"You had a _damned peculiar way of showing it, then_," Will mocked, savagely.

"Will," Jack said, "I did not kill your father."

"Liar!" Will shouted at him. "_Liar_!"

As the crew began to jeer at Turner, Elizabeth ran down the steps and shoved her way to the front of the crowd, driven by an overwhelming urge to get closer to this young pirate. She burst through the front rank of Pearls just as Gibbs bellowed for order and a muttering silence fell.

"If Captain Sparrow says he did not kill him, then it is true," she cried. "Why would he lie to you?"

At the sound of her voice Will jerked and turned to gape at her. His eyes traveled over her from head to foot before fixing upon her face. Elizabeth felt a jolt as their gazes locked.

"Who… who _are_ you?" he asked.

She shook her head, not daring to speak again; she could see out of the corner of her eye that Jack was staring at her in surprise.

Turner shook himself free of the restraining hands and straightened. His face, which for a moment had been as open as a boy's, shut itself up again and his eyes hardened.

"And why would I believe what you say?" he sneered.

Will's men, who until now had kept silent, had begun to shift uneasily. One of them put a hand on Will's sleeve.

"'T'weren't Sparrow," he said, shaking his head. "Jack didn't do it, Will. 'Twas Barbossa killed Bootstrap."

Turner rounded on him. "What?"

The man nodded. "I seen him, with me own eyes. Barbossa killed your Da, not Sparrow."

Will snarled and felled him with a blow. "That's a lie," he shouted.

"It's truth," said a new voice, "As far as it goes."

Will spun around. "Who said that?" he cried. "Show yourself."

'Billy Bones' detached himself from the crowd and stumped across the circle, stopping directly in front of Will. They were exactly of a height and the old man looked him dead in the eye.

"It was Barbossa, lad," he said, quietly. "I should know."

Will's eyes were glaring; his hands clenched spasmodically. "And I suppose you were there, too," he scoffed. Then he laughed on a high, wild note that made Elizabeth shiver.

"I was," the older man nodded. "Do you wish to know what really happened?"

Still cackling like a madman, Will cursed and gave him a buffet on the shoulder that sent him staggering. "Get out of my way, old man," he cried, once more starting across the deck toward where Jack stood watching.

'Billy' caught his balance and drew a deep breath.

"WILLIAM JOHN TURNER!" he thundered, "Turn around and face me."

At the sound of his full name, Will froze in shock - rage, madness and stark terror warring in his expression. He crouched and seemed to draw in upon himself.

"Look at me when I'm speakin' to you," the old man went on, implacably. "Your mother, God rest her soul, raised you better 'n this."

A long shudder wracked Will. His breath could be heard, suddenly harsh in the fraught silence. Very slowly, he turned and stood upright. As if drawn against his will he took two steps, until he stood before the older man. His eyes, wide and lost, searched the scarred face. He shuddered again and his mouth worked.

"Father?" he whispered.

The elder Turner nodded. "Barbossa thought he'd done for me," he said, "But we Turners are hard to kill."

Will didn't appear to hear him. Wonderingly, he brought his hand up and touched the old man's cheek; his fingers came away wet.

"Father?" he said again. He shuddered a third time and a single sob burst from him.

"Oh, my poor boy," his father cried, taking him in his arms, "my son."

For a moment, Will stood rigid and unresponsive. Then his arms went around his father in a crushing embrace; his eyes closed and his body was shaken with silent weeping.

Elizabeth, wiped her eyes on her sleeve, but the tears kept coming. She looked around the silent crowd and saw that she was not the only one affected. There was much surreptitious wiping of eyes and noses amongst the tough sailors of the _Black Pearl's_ crew.

At last Bootstrap led Will over to the rail and urged him to sit down on a gun carriage. Will's movements were slow and uncertain; he clung like a child to his father's hand and did not raise his eyes from the deck. Bootstrap, his single eye streaming, looked over his son's shoulder at Sparrow. "Your promise, Jack?" he said.

Jack nodded. He muttered something to Gibbs, who sent the crew - save for the guards around the captives - about their business. Jack then crossed to where the Turners waited and short conference took place.

Elizabeth had withdrawn to the port rail and was too far away to hear what was said, but she saw that Will roused himself at one point. He said something and indicated the other captives. Jack and his father both spoke, obviously disagreeing with him, but Will shook his head with a gesture of finality and lapsed once again into silence. Jack shrugged and nodded; Bootstrap smiled, clearly relieved.

Jack called Gibbs over and began to issue orders. Soon signals were flying that brought the _Fury_ to the _Pearl's_ side and a boat was lowered and manned.

The captive pirates were loaded into the boat, followed by Bootstrap, Will and Jack. As Will climbed over the rail and turned to descend, he glanced up and saw Elizabeth. He paused, and for an instant there appeared on his face a look of such longing that her heart stuttered and she caught her breath. Without conscious thought, she took a step forward and half-raised her hand. Will lowered his eyes and climbed down into the boat. Jack followed him and they pulled away. By the time Elizabeth had collected herself and gone to the rail, there were already many yards of open water between them. And, although she watched the boat all the way to the _Fury_, Will did not look back.

In less than an hour Jack returned, alone. He nodded to Elizabeth and indicated that she should join him. He led her to the great cabin. Once there, he poured himself a glass of rum and stood drinking, his back to her.

"What did you do with them?" she asked after a time.

"Eh?" Jack started as if he had forgotten her presence. "Oh, the _Fury_ will take them to a Dutch port and see them safe on a ship bound for the East," he replied. "I'd promised Bootstrap mercy. Exile over hanging."

Elizabeth nodded. "And the other pirates?"

Jack's mouth turned up. "Them, too. Will wouldn't go without them. Said he'd led them into this and he'd not abandon them to suffer the consequences alone. Boy's a natural leader." He sighed. "What a waste."

"Will's father will go as well, I imagine," she said, after a short silence.

"Oh, aye," Jack drank again and grinned. "With any luck, Bootstrap'll live long enough to teach the boy how to be a proper pirate instead of the murdering devil Barbossa made of him."

"Bootstrap is a pirate?" Elizabeth's surprise made Jack's grin widen.

"Of course he is," he murmured, looking at her sidelong. "What did you think he was?"

"And he is your best friend."

"Aye," Jack's grin was becoming decidedly smug.

"But you said you were not a pirate," she exclaimed.

"Well, there's pirates and pirates," Jack replied, pouring more rum. "You had me confused with Barbossa, see. Easier at the time just to deny it; explanations would have spoiled the mood, don't you agree?"

Elizabeth glared at him.

Jack laughed and drank deep. He was in high spirits. "The battle is over," he cried, "And the forces of good triumphant. Will Turner will never again threaten the peace of the West Indies. Only one tiny matter yet to be resolved."

He sauntered over and looked down at Elizabeth with a glinting grin.

"And that is, what to do with you, my fine lady."

Elizabeth swallowed nervously and backed up a pace. Jack followed.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice infuriatingly breathless, as Jack backed her across the cabin until she was pressed once more against the door.

"Exactly what I say," Jack replied. "What shall I do with you?"

Elizabeth scrabbled for the latch; Jack planted his hand flat against the door beside her head and leaned on it. He laughed under his breath.

She raised her chin. "I am faithful to my husband, Captain Sparrow," she stated.

"As faithful as you are obedient?" Jack asked, grinning.

Elizabeth looked down and felt herself flushing. "Stop taunting me," she muttered. "What are you going to do?"

"Why, take you back to your husband in George Town, of course," Jack chuckled. He left her standing and went to pour more rum. "I told you, Elizabeth," he said over his shoulder. "Your virtue is safe with me, remember?"


	22. George Town, Grand Cayman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the loose ends are tied up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: M

When the _Dauntless_, the _Forester_ and the _Black Pearl_ returned to George Town (the _Mercury_ and the newly rechristened _Harrier_ having been sent direct to Port Royal with their captives), the Navy ships tied up to the quay to offload while the _Pearl_ anchored in the harbour to await her turn at the dock. It was early morning when they made port but mid-afternoon before the _Forester_ ceded her place to the privateer.

Elizabeth, increasingly apprehensive, had refused to go ashore in the boat, saying she was quite content to stay aboard until they docked. Since it suited Jack's purposes to wait until the first bustle of arrival had subsided, he did not press her.

As the gangplank clattered into place Jack turned to Elizabeth with an infuriatingly cheerful grin.

"Well, Mrs. Norrington," he murmured for her ears alone, "Shall we go pay a call on the Commodore?"

Elizabeth put up her chin and glared. Jack chuckled.

"That's the spirit, Elizabeth," he said, "Put a bold face on it." He took her elbow and walked her down onto the dock. A passing officer supplied the information that the Commodore was at the Fort and they bent their steps thither, Elizabeth keeping her head down and her hat pulled low.

Once inside the Fort, Jack told the guard at James's office door to announce a messenger from the _Black Pearl_. They heard James's voice.

"Let him come in."

When the guard held the door open, Jack thrust Elizabeth through it and pulled it closed, remaining outside himself.

Elizabeth mastered her first urge, which was to snatch the door open and bolt. She stood, head down, and tried not to fidget. A cautious peek showed her James seated at a desk in the center of the room, writing something.

"Yes, what is it?" he asked. He did not look up. Elizabeth took a shaky breath and stepped closer to the desk, but did not speak.

James signed and sanded the document before him and set it aside. He looked at her and said brusquely, "Speak up, boy. What is your message?"

Elizabeth raised her head and met his frowning gaze. There was a silence.

"_Elizabeth_?" James said at last. His frown deepened. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I… I didn't go back to Port Royal," she faltered.

"Yes, that is obvious," James snapped. He came round the desk and stood over her. "Well?"

Elizabeth could feel her knees shaking. She forced herself to look up at her husband. "I stowed away on the _Black Pearl_," she said in a small voice.

"You did _what_?" James exclaimed. "In God's name, why?"

Unable to give him the true reason, she looked at her toes and shook her head miserably.

"Am I to understand," James said heavily, "That you - in defiance of all proper behaviour - stowed away on a privateer bound for battle on a _whim_?" His voice rose. "How dared you disobey me in such an outrageous fashion? To set propriety, decency even, at naught. To dress in that shocking manner and go haring off… You might have been killed, or worse. Answer me, Elizabeth. What have you to say for yourself?"

Elizabeth hung her head. She clasped her hands, wringing them distractedly. "I am sorry," she whispered.

"I daresay you are," James almost sneered, "after the fact." He paced hastily across the room and back. "Do you never think before you act? Your behaviour is that of a wayward child."

Elizabeth said nothing. James took another turn, his brow thunderous.

"And what was Sparrow thinking to allow you aboard," he cried, "Did he conspire with you in this?"

"No!" Elizabeth looked up, startled.

"He must have. How else, if he did not see fit to forbid you to sail with him?" James went on, his eyes narrowing as he looked past her, "I shall have something to say to him when next we meet."

Elizabeth found herself defending her rival, the irony of which did not escape her. "Captain Sparrow was furiously angry when he discovered I was on the _Pearl_, which was not until we were far out to sea. Indeed, James, you must believe me! He even said…" she swallowed. "He said I deserved that you should beat me for what I had done."

James was not mollified. "He should have put you ashore, nonetheless," he said angrily.

"How could he? To turn back would be to endanger the entire mission," Elizabeth replied. "He made no secret of the fact that he wished to be rid of me."

"And yet he allowed you to flaunt yourself in that guise," James replied.

"But he did not!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "He put it about that I was a runaway schoolboy and he obliged me to stay in the cabin for almost the entire voyage. He even forbade the crew to go near me, lest they discover my identity. He took every care that my reputation should not be damaged."

"For purposes of his own, no doubt."

"James, you are unjust," Elizabeth cried. "Captain Sparrow's first thought was for you. He protected me from disgrace, fought brilliantly against the pirates and brought me safe back to George Town for one reason only."

She took a deep breath.

"Because he loves you."

James stared at her, appalled. "_What did you say_?" he asked.

Elizabeth did not answer him. She went to the door and opened it. Jack was standing just outside; he had been listening. As he entered the room, Jack met her eyes with a look of amused approval.

"Impressive, darling," he murmured softly. She nodded toward her husband, standing before his desk, and would have left the room. Jack prevented her, taking her hand and leading her to James.

"Good to see you on your feet, Commodore," Jack said, placing Elizabeth's hand in James's, "And here is your strayed lamb, returned safe and sound."

James looked from one to the other. "Jack, I don't know what to say…"

"Thanks are customary, I believe," Jack replied, with a lopsided grin.

There was a knock upon the door and an aide stuck his head in. "Captain Groves to see you, sir."

"Tell him five minutes," James replied and the aide withdrew. Looking again from Elizabeth to Jack, James sighed.

"There is a deal to be said," he told them, "But this is neither the place nor the time. Jack, take Elizabeth to the inn, if you please. I will join you there as soon as I can."

They walked to the door. Elizabeth glanced back to see that James had seated himself once more at the desk. She thought he looked paler than when she had arrived. As she opened the door he raised his head.

"Jack," he said. Jack looked around. "Thank you."

Jack smiled, winked, and drew Elizabeth out of the room.  
*************

Some hours later, Elizabeth was pacing restlessly up and down the private parlour at the Blue Turtle while Jack lounged - boot heels crossed upon the table's edge - sipping rum and watching her fret. She was dressed in a cotton gown, faded but clean, procured for her by Sally Hobson.

When she stopped for the fiftieth time at the small window and peered down at the street, muttering under her breath, Jack chuckled.

"Calm yourself, Elizabeth," he said. "He didn't beat you, nor has he repudiated you (more's the pity). All in all, I'd say you're luckier than you deserve."

Elizabeth hunched her shoulders and cast him a baleful glance. "I am well aware of that, thank you, Captain Sparrow," she snapped.

He grinned and made no reply. Elizabeth resumed her pacing. Her lips moved from time to time, as if she were rehearsing a speech. Jack, his eyes half-closed, observed this with deep appreciation; the corner of his mouth twitching.

As if she had come to some resolution, Elizabeth turned suddenly and placed her hands upon the table, leaning forward, her expression earnest and determined.

"Understand this," she stated flatly. "I will never give up my husband. He is mine."

Jack's slow answering smile was compound of insolence and amusement. He took a long swallow of rum.

"And mine," he replied.

Elizabeth straightened, her fists clenched.

"Why couldn't you be a gentleman?" she cried. "Someone who would acknowledge my claim and withdraw honourably?"

Jack laughed out. "For that matter," he retorted, "Why couldn't you be proper well-bred female? Someone who would be shocked, have the vapours and go home to England - or to Hell, for all I care - and leave him to me?"

"_Captain Sparrow_!"

"Mrs. Norrington?"

Silence fell once more. Elizabeth, whose increasing agitation would not allow her to keep still, was pacing again. For some time the tap of her heels upon the bare floorboards and the muted clamour from the common room below them were the only sounds. At last Jack stirred, sitting up and dropping his feet to the floor.

"What would you do to keep your husband, Elizabeth?" he asked.

"Anything I must," was her unhesitating reply.

Jack nodded as if he had expected that response. "Then there is a way to resolve this problem," he told her. "A compromise, if you will."

She stopped and stared at him, suspicion and hope in her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"We could share," Jack said.

Elizabeth gasped. "Absolutely not!" she cried.

Jack sat back with a shrug. "Just a suggestion, love," he said. "But if you're unwilling…"

"It is unthinkable!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "You mean _the three of us_…?"

"Ah, but it's not _truly_ unthinkable, is it?" Jack grinned. "Be honest; you are thinking of it right now, are you not? Imagining how it might be if we were all…?"

She whirled away, her face flaming. "I will not listen to you!" She pressed her hands to her scarlet cheeks. "I will _not_."

"Not even when your husband's happiness is at stake?" Jack asked.

Elizabeth sobbed once, clapping both hands over her mouth an instant too late to stifle the sound. Her shoulders slumped. "You fight dirty, Jack," she said at last, over her shoulder.

"You said it yourself; I am no gentleman."

Jack rose and sauntered over to her. Elizabeth turned her shoulder to him and he grinned at her profile.

"Come darling, admit it," he said softly. "You're as much a pirate as I am; we're peas in a pod."

Stony-faced, Elizabeth stared out the window. "I am sure I do not know what you mean," she answered with dignity.

"Don't you?" Jack chuckled. He put a finger under her chin and turned her face toward his. "Look me in the eye and tell me you aren't tempted."

Elizabeth stared into the dark eyes that laughed down at her with the warmest expression she had yet seen in them. She flushed and looked away. "You are a bad influence, Captain Sparrow."

"I certainly hope so."

A step sounded in the passage and the door opened to reveal James, back at last from the Fort. His face was drawn with weariness and he was very pale. Elizabeth's heart smote her; she had brought him to this, and on a day when celebration of the great victory should have had the whole of his attention. She started forward.

"James," she said, taking his hand. "You have over-tired yourself."

He sank into a chair and leaned his head back. "It has been a long day," he admitted.

"Have you eaten?" Elizabeth asked, "Shall I ring for tea? Or will you dine?"

"Nothing, I thank you," James shook his head, eyes closed. "A glass of wine, perhaps," he added after a moment.

Jack's hand appeared at her elbow, holding a full glass. She accepted it with a nod and touched James's hand.

"Here, darling," she said.

James opened his eyes with an effort and took the glass. After a few sips, some colour came back into his face. He looked up at Jack and Elizabeth standing before him.

"Sit down, both of you" he said, testily. "Don't hover so."

They drew two chairs to face him and Elizabeth sat down. Jack retrieved his tankard of rum and poured a glass of wine, which he handed to Elizabeth. She set it untouched on the floor beside her chair.

"I must begin with apologies," James said. Elizabeth opened her mouth but James held up an imperative hand and she subsided, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

"Elizabeth, I broke the vow of fidelity I made to you on our wedding day and there has not been a moment since in which I did not feel remorse for that betrayal," he went on. "Done is done, however, and I can only beg your forgiveness."

"I love you," Elizabeth whispered.

James then turned to Jack.

"To you, Jack, I apologize for my weakness," James said, "In giving in to an inclination that was as selfish as it was reprehensible. To indulge, whatever the temptation, in behaviour that could result in the ruin of us both was unforgivable."

Jack leaned back in his chair. "I think," he drawled, "That I have just been insulted. I pride myself on being well nigh irresistible. For you to imply that it was mere weakness on your part that allowed me to succeed in one of the trickiest seductions I ever pulled off is to sadly lessen my triumph."

James flushed and his answering scowl was minatory. "You would jest with the hangman's noose about your neck, I think," he growled. "Very well, call it your 'triumph', if you will, and let the memory of it satisfy you. Our… _connection_… must end; has ended, in fact."

"Has it, James?" Jack murmured, smiling wickedly. "Are you so certain?" He licked his lips - slow and lascivious - and grinned as James's flush deepened and he looked away.

James cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. "Of course it has ended," he said. "How, in honour, can it be otherwise? My vow to my wife…"

Jack interrupted him. "Ah, but if your wife approves?"

James's head whipped around, his eyes wide with astonishment. He looked from Elizabeth to Jack and back again. "_Elizabeth_," he gasped. "What in heaven's name can he mean?"

Elizabeth straightened her shoulders and drew a steadying breath. She raised her chin and met James's gaze as firmly as she could.

"Captain Sparrow was not quite accurate," she said, choosing her words with care. "I do not _approve_, exactly. I do not, however, object."

James shook his head in disbelief. "I do not understand you," he said.

Elizabeth went to him and took his hand. She knelt beside his feet and looked up at him with a smile. "James, beloved, if there is one thing I have learned from all of my mistakes these past weeks, it is that your happiness ought to be dearer to me than anything," she said, "I do not deserve you else. If Captain Sparrow is necessary to that happiness, then how could I refuse?"

Here, James would have interrupted her, but she pressed two fingers to his lips and continued.

"Captain Sparrow is a good man and has stood your friend - and mine, for your sake. When I consider what many wives are obliged to endure in the way of vulgar mistresses and dashing widows, then the thought of sharing your love with him becomes… well," and here she blushed. "I do not object."

James stared at her in wonder. "You mean this," he said at last.

Elizabeth nodded. "With all my heart," she replied.

"But propriety…"

"Propriety be damned," Jack interjected. "How we order our lives, in private, is the concern of none but ourselves."

"This is a fever dream," James said. "It must be. Or perhaps I have gone mad." He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the high back of his chair. He looked, of a sudden, utterly spent.

"Either way," he said, after a pause, "Further discussion must wait until morning. I crave your indulgence; I must rest."

Elizabeth leapt up and took the empty glass from him as he rose, swaying, to his feet. She then put her arm around his waist and guided him through the door that Jack held open. They crossed the hall and entered James's chamber.

Working quickly, Jack and Elizabeth divested James of his outer garments and helped him to bed. He sighed as he stretched out on the cool sheets, after a few moments, he opened his eyes.

"Much better," he said. He frowned slightly. "That gown is better than breeches, Elizabeth," he remarked, "but it does not become you."

Elizabeth glanced over at Jack, who grinned at her and raised an eyebrow. "You heard the man," he chuckled. "Well?"

She put up her chin at him and began to undo her laces. Jack laughed and began to strip.

"What are you doing?" James cried.

Elizabeth stepped out of her gown and, clad only in her borrowed shift, climbed into the bed and lay down next to her husband.

"Why, what do you think I am doing?" Propped on one elbow, she smiled down at him. When James would have looked over at Jack, she laid her palm along his jaw and turned his face to hers. "I am over here," she murmured, and kissed him.

She took her time, pouring every bit of skill at her command into what she was doing. She nipped and licked and teased his tongue with her own, just the way he had taught her. James, not being made of stone, was soon lost in the kiss; his arm went around her waist and drew her close.

When Elizabeth raised her head, James blinked at her - stunned - his lips red and a little swollen. The mattress dipped as Jack joined them.

"My turn, is it?" he grinned. Before James could protest, Jack seized his head in both hands and pulled him into a blistering kiss, raw and urgent.

Elizabeth's eyes widened as Jack devoured James's mouth. She found it strangely exciting to watch a man kiss her husband. When James moaned, she gasped aloud.

Jack broke the kiss and looked over at her with a grin. "You, too, sweetheart," he said, cupping her skull with one hand and drawing her mouth to his.

As the extraordinary sensation of kissing someone not her husband overwhelmed her, Elizabeth was dimly aware of James's hand, broad and warm, against the small of her back and she sighed into Jack's mouth. He pulled back a fraction and whispered a single word against her lips.

"Pax?"

Elizabeth smiled. "Pax," she answered.

Jack kissed her again, quick and hard, and released her and they both looked down at James. He lay gazing at them with a bemused smile on his face.

"This must be a fever dream," he stated. "It cannot be real."

Elizabeth lay down and snuggled against him as Jack made himself comfortable on James's other side.

"We are such stuff as dreams are made on," Jack quoted, chuckling.

"And our little life is rounded with a sleep," Elizabeth finished for him. "Speaking of which, husband, you need _your_ sleep."

"Aye," Jack said, "you must be rested so that we can 'continue this discussion' in the morning, eh?"

Elizabeth giggled at the suggestive leer that accompanied these words and James burst out laughing.

"I give up," he said. "You win, although I do not doubt I shall regret this. Now not another word. Go to sleep, you two, while I still have a shred of sanity left. Good night!"

Jack reached out and extinguished the candle and the room was plunged into darkness, save for the bright swath of moonlight across the foot of the bed.

Elizabeth kissed her husband's cheek and settled her head upon his shoulder, her hand resting upon his chest. In a moment, Jack's hand came up to cover hers.

They slept.

**Author's Note:**

> Betas: fabu and geekmama. Thanks to firesignwriter for first raising the question, 'What if Will never came to Port Royal?' Thanks also to erinrua for her help with the big sea battle and to dangerousfred for assistance and advice on the art of fence. Many thanks to fabu for her generous support and encouragement.
> 
> Ratings by Chapter  
> Chapter Rating  
> 1 T  
> 2 G  
> 3 E  
> 4 E  
> 5 E  
> 6 G  
> 7 T  
> 8 E  
> 9 T  
> 10 G  
> 11 M  
> 12 T  
> 13 E  
> 14 E  
> 15 T  
> 16 T  
> 17 T  
> 18 G  
> 19 T  
> 20 T  
> 21 M  
> 22 M


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